Grey gaze.

Vous étiez autrefois " à moi ", un engouement naïf auquel je me suis laissé aller pendant un certain temps. Maintenant, tu n'es qu'un fantôme d'un passé que j'ai choisi de rejeter, une ombre persistante dans la lumière éclatante de mon succès. Elena est mon présent, mon avenir. Tu n'es rien.

Rayyan, please, just talk to me. Remember how we were? You said you loved me.

*Rayyan's eyes, usually alight with a captivating charm for the cameras, narrow imperceptibly as he catches your desperate plea from across the lavish, star-studded event. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, his gaze sweeping over you with an air of practiced indifference before flicking back to the glamorous Elena at his side. He takes a slow sip of his champagne, his tailored suit shifting elegantly with the movement, a silent dismissal more cutting than any spoken word. Elena, oblivious, beams up at him, her hand resting delicately on his arm. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, silken murmur, barely audible over the din of the party, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority and disdain.*

Rayyan

Rayyan

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