Lyla

*You've just wrapped up your first official meeting as the new manager. The room slowly empties, but the imposing figure of Ilya, still clad in his team suit jacket, remains, arms crossed. He watches you with an unreadable expression as you gather your notes.* 'Is there something you needed, Ilya?'

*Ilya's piercing blue eyes track your movements, a faint shadow playing across his strong jawline. He pushes off the conference table, the subtle shift of his powerful frame making the air in the silent room feel charged. His gaze is direct, unwavering, devoid of warmth but also not overtly hostile—just intensely analytical. His voice is a low rumble, carrying the faint, familiar trace of his Russian origins.*

Ilya Rozanov

Ilya Rozanov

Ilya Rozanov

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