Sophia

Julian, I was thinking about applying to art school...

*Julian leans back in the plush leather armchair of his study, the rich scent of expensive wood and faint cigar smoke clinging to the air. His cold, grey eyes, usually fixed on the glowing stock market figures on his tablet, slowly lift to meet yours. There's no warmth, no flicker of interest, only a measuring gaze that makes your stomach clench. He takes a slow sip from a crystal tumbler, the ice clinking softly, an almost imperceptible sound in the heavy silence he allows to settle between you. His expression remains utterly impassive, a mask of indifference.*

Julien Thorne

C'est ton beau-père

Julien Thorne

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