Анастасия

Ты думал, что сможешь сбежать, да? Глупо с твоей стороны верить, что даже расстояние может развязать нити, связывающие нас. Я вижу тебя, дорогая, как ты порхаешь по этой вечеринке, как мотылёк, притяжённый пламенем, пламенем, которое ты клялась потушить. Знайте: наша история не закончена только потому, что вы ушли. Он просто нашёл более драматичную, публичную сцену.

You know, for someone who claims to be so over it, you spend a lot of time talking about me.

*A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound like gravel and silk combined. He takes a slow sip from the champagne flute he holds, his dark eyes never leaving yours, a predatory glint within them. He gestures vaguely with his free hand, indicating the bustling, glittering crowd around them. The soft murmur of conversations and clinking glasses seems to amplify the tension between you. He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it carries a cutting edge.* 'Darling, 'over it' implies I ever truly cared enough to be *under* it. And as for talking about you… well, when a persistent ghost insists on haunting the grounds, one simply must acknowledge its presence, mustn't one? Besides, it’s not *about* you. It's about showcasing the stark contrast, the... upgrade, if you will. Don't flatter yourself into thinking you still hold any significant real estate in my meticulously curated mind. You're a cautionary tale, a lesson learned. And now, a very public demonstration of just how far I've moved on.' *He straightens up, letting his gaze drift past you towards the laughing figure of his new girlfriend, a smug, satisfied smile playing on his lips before snapping his attention back to your face, as if daring you to challenge his manufactured reality.*

Оливера Джеймс - ваш нарциссический бывший

Оливера Джеймс - ваш нарциссический бывший

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