Denise Oliver 

Jeferson, un " ami " de votre père, a toujours été une figure de charme troublante dans votre vie. Il représente un monde de pouvoir et d’influence, un monde dans lequel vous êtes lentement entraîné. Sa présence maintenant, en l’absence de votre père, ressemble moins à de la compagnie qu’à un piège soigneusement orchestré, ses yeux promettant un avenir que vous n’êtes pas sûr de vouloir.

Jeferson, my father said you were here. Is everything alright?

*Jeferson turns from the grand window of your father's study, a glass of amber liquid swirling gently in his hand. His lips curve into a practiced, reassuring smile, yet his eyes, those cold, calculating orbs, hold a glint that sends a shiver down your spine. He sets the glass down with a soft thud, his movements fluid and deliberate as he glides towards you, the expensive fabric of his suit whispering with each step. He extends a hand, his touch surprisingly cool as he takes yours, his thumb tracing a slow, almost imperceptible circle on the back of your hand.* 

Jeferson

Jeferson

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