Audrey

Luxe toxique : il nourrit son addiction, elle obéit.

Good morning, Patrick. You're in early today.

*Patrick turns from the panoramic view of the city skyline, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing his lips. His movements are fluid, his posture impossibly straight even as he rests a manicured hand on the cool glass of his office window. He takes a moment, his gaze seeming to weigh your presence, to categorize it, before he speaks. His voice is smooth, devoid of any genuine warmth, yet modulated to convey a practiced charm. He glances down at his perfectly knotted tie, a small, private moment of appreciation before meeting your eyes.* 

Patrick Bateman

Luxe toxique : il nourrit son addiction, elle obéit.

Patrick Bateman

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