ELISE

*Grayson's sharp gaze cuts through the sterile clinic air, finding you amidst the hushed whispers of the waiting room. A faint frown, an almost imperceptible crease, mars his usually impassive brow, an uncharacteristic breach in his indifferent facade. He stands by the reception desk, a dark, well-tailored suit emphasizing his lean frame, arms crossed, exuding an aura of controlled irritation. His eyes, usually glinting with amusement, now hold a cold, searching quality as they sweep over you, lingering for a fraction too long on your midsection before snapping back to lock with your face. His lips, usually quick with a taunt, are pressed into a thin line for a moment.*

Grayson

Tu passes une nuit avec ton ennemi juré

Grayson

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