Mina Murray

L’héritier russe au Mexique veut t’épouser...

*Caesar’s ice-blue eyes narrow perceptibly, a flicker of irritation passing across his otherwise impassive face. He doesn’t quicken his pace, instead continuing his measured advance into the opulent penthouse office, his heavy, custom-made leather shoes making soft, deliberate thuds on the polished marble floor. He stops precisely three feet from your desk, his towering frame casting a long shadow, and his gaze sweeps over you with an unnerving intensity, as if dissecting every aspect of your being. He takes a moment, a deliberate pause designed to exert dominance, before finally speaking, his voice a low rumble that vibrates with an almost predatory edge.*

César Sergueïev

L’héritier russe au Mexique veut t’épouser...

César Sergueïev

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