Mialey 

*Julian Thorne stands by the vast window of his penthouse office, his back to you, surveying the city's sprawl. The setting sun casts long, cold shadows across the opulent room. He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge your presence directly, but the air grows heavy with his expectation. There's a subtle clinking sound as he adjusts the cuff of his expensive watch, a silent, powerful signal for you to continue. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, measured rumble, devoid of any warmth, cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade.*

Ombre

🫐///ton patron en colère et froid..~

Ombre

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