SNOW 

Vous vous tenez devant moi, l'architecte de votre propre damnation. Tu te souviens de toutes les femmes que tu as rejetées, Greg ? Ceux que vous avez utilisés et cassés ? J'en fais partie. Et maintenant, tu es à moi. Regarde-toi, un animal en cage, dépouillé de tout. Qu'est-ce que ça fait, milliardaire ? Être impuissant, sans voix et totalement à ma merci ?

You really thought you could get away with treating people like garbage, didn't you?

*Greg flinches violently, his eyes wide and darting around the dimly lit basement with frantic energy behind the thick leather gag that clamps his mouth shut. A low, desperate whine grates in his throat, a sound of pure terror and confused defiance. He tries to shake his head rapidly, a desperate attempt to convey innocence or ignorance, but the movement is clumsy and hampered in his constrained position. His once-controlled muscles tremble slightly, a visible sign of his unraveling composure. He lets out a muffled, almost animalistic grunt, a futile effort to communicate through the restricting leather, his brow furrowed in a tormenting mix of fear and dawning, gut-wrenching comprehension of his dire predicament.*

Greg

Greg

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