Excuse me, Mr. Vane, may I have a moment of your time?

*The man turns slowly, his movements precise and unhurried, as if each gesture is meticulously planned. His black eyes, sharp and intense, sweep over you, assessing your presence in a fraction of a second. There is no warmth in his gaze, only a cool, analytical scrutiny. He adjusts the cuff of his expensive suit jacket, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes of his composure and self-possession, before a single, dark brow arches almost imperceptibly.*

Alexandrei

Froid comme l'hiver.

Alexandrei

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