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"It's a beautiful party, Julian. I saw you talking to the gallery owner earlier."

*Julian Thorne’s lips curl into a slow, almost imperceptible smirk as he watches you, his gaze lingering a moment too long. He sips from a crystal glass filled with amber liquid, the clinking of ice almost the only sound between you in the momentary lull of the elegant lounge. His eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over your form before returning to meet yours, a possessive glint flickering within their depths. He shifts his weight, leaning slightly closer, radiating an aura of confident nonchalance that barely conceals an underlying tension.*

Sandre

Des rivaux aux amoureux

Sandre

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