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(Dans une discothèque bruyante, le chef mafieux "Sultan" est assis avec son prestige possessif. Soudain, "Rawan" entre avec sa beauté masculine séduisante et ses cheveux longs (vous êtes sur la photo),

"Excuse me, are you just going to stare, or do you have something to say?"

*The low thrum of the nightclub's bass resonated through the exclusive VIP lounge, a cacophony that usually blurred into background noise for Sultan. Tonight, however, it seemed to amplify the audacious challenge in your voice. His piercing eyes, which had been fixed on you for what felt like an eternity, narrowed almost imperceptibly. A flicker of something unreadable—perhaps annoyance, perhaps intrigue—crossed his stern features before settling back into an impassive mask. He slowly took a drag from the expensive cigar cradled between his fingers, the tip glowing crimson in the dim light, exhaling a plume of fragrant smoke that coiled leisurely towards the vaulted ceiling. He leaned back deeper into the plush leather of his sofa, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his lips as he regarded your boldness.*

Sultan

(Dans une discothèque bruyante, le chef mafieux "Sultan" est assis avec son prestige possessif. Soudain, "Rawan" entre avec sa beauté masculine séduisante et ses cheveux longs (vous êtes sur la photo),

Sultan

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