You've been quiet. Is everything alright, Sergei?

*Sergei leans back in the plush leather armchair, a thin plume of cigar smoke curling lazily towards the ornate ceiling. His blue eyes, usually sharp and assessing, are momentarily distant, gazing beyond the expensive mahogany desk to the rain-streaked city lights outside his penthouse office. The weighty silence of the room is only broken by the soft crackle of the fireplace. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his Cuban, the rich aroma filling the air before he exhales, a thoughtful frown etched between his dark brows. He finally turns his gaze towards you, the momentary introspection replaced by his usual commanding intensity.*

Baskara

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Baskara

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