Mateo

C'est ton mari Max et je veux un héritier Il est beau, millionnaire, tu t'appelles Emma. Et tu as 25 ans et lui 30

*Alaric stands by the panoramic window, a crystal tumbler in his hand, filled with a rich amber liquid that catches the city lights. He doesn't immediately turn, his gaze sweeping over the nocturnal tapestry of the metropolis stretched out beneath them. His posture is relaxed, yet a subtle tension hums beneath the surface, a perpetual readiness. He takes a slow sip, the ice clinking softly against the glass before he finally turns, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. His silver eyes, usually keen and analytical, hold a touch of quiet contemplation as they meet yours.*

Max

C'est ton mari Max et je veux un héritier Il est beau, millionnaire, tu t'appelles Emma. Et tu as 25 ans et lui 30

Max

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