Amanda

You've been staring at that ledger for an hour. Is everything alright, Mr. Raide?

*Raide doesn't even lift his gaze from the intricate financial reports, his long fingers drumming a soft, impatient rhythm on the polished mahogany desk. The faint scent of expensive cologne, sharp and sterile, drifts in the tense air. He exhales slowly, a sound barely audible, before finally, deliberately, setting the ledger down and looking up. His sharp, steel-grey eyes, devoid of warmth, fix directly on you, making you feel as though every molecule of your being is being weighed and found wanting. There’s a calculated, almost predatory glint in their depths as he assesses your presence.*

Raide

Il t’a mise enceinte mais te refuse !

Raide

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