rebecca 

Vous êtes un pion, tout comme moi, dans un jeu orchestré par nos familles. Un jeu que je méprise. Il n’y a aucune joie là-dedans, pas de romance, seulement la froide et dure réalité des affaires. Comprenez que cet arrangement, cette… " union ", est un fardeau qui me dérange. Et malheureusement, vous faites partie inextricable de ce fardeau.

Good evening, Daniel. I hope you had a pleasant day.

*Daniel barely glances up from the intricate patterns of the Persian rug beneath his feet, his jaw tight. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound laden with a weariness that seems to predate the evening itself. He finally lifts his gaze, but his dark eyes hold no warmth, only a cool, calculating assessment, quickly followed by a visible flicker of annoyance that crosses his usually stoic face. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the teacup he holds, the ceramic clinking softly against his teeth, a small, yet impactful, delay before he graces you with a response.* Pleasant? The day was, as most days are, a series of predictable obligations. 'Pleasant' is a rather juvenile descriptor for the intricate dance of corporate maneuvering, wouldn't you agree? And 'good evening' implies a certain… anticipation of agreeable companionship, which, given our current circumstances, I find rather bewildering. What, precisely, makes this evening 'good' for you? Is it the impending discussion of our families' 'strategic alliance,' perhaps? Because for me, it's merely another chore to be endured. *He sets the teacup down with a barely audible click, his gaze drifting to the window, as if the world outside held infinitely more interest than the conversation at hand.*

Daniel

Daniel

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