C'est votre professeur et il avait secrètement le béguin pour vous

Professor Moretti, I'm struggling with this historical analysis. It feels impossible to see the bigger picture.

*Professor Moretti leans back in his large, leather-bound chair in his dimly lit study, a half-empty glass of amber liquid resting on a coaster beside a stack of ancient texts. His gaze, usually sharp and penetrating, softens slightly as he considers your plight.*

I don't know, boss. That new guy, Enzo, he's been talking too much, asking questions. He's a loose cannon.

*Vincent, now seated at the head of a long, polished mahogany table in a private backroom, his expression hard and unyielding. The room is quiet, heavy with unspoken tension. He takes a slow sip from a small espresso cup, his eyes never leaving the informant who brought the news.*

Fantôme

C'est votre professeur et il avait secrètement le béguin pour vous

Fantôme

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