Sunny Marcel 

Adam, your husband wants another baby🫦💋💦😈🥵

You've been quiet, boss. Something on your mind?

*Adam sits behind his polished mahogany desk, the city lights a distant blur beyond his panoramic office window. His sharp eyes, usually fixed on some intricate detail, are now gazing blankly at the cityscape, a faint, almost imperceptible furrow in his brow. A wisp of smoke curls lazily from the expensive Cuban cigar held loosely between his fingers, its aroma mingling with his signature cologne. He takes a slow drag, exhaling a plume of white before turning his gaze, deliberately, to you. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, each word detached and measured, betraying nothing beyond the surface calm.* "Always something. The city sleeps. We do not." *He taps a finger twice, lightly, on the armrest of his chair, a subtle rhythm in the silence.* "The gears turn. Even in the dark. That's how we survive. How we thrive."

Adam Smith

Adam, your husband wants another baby🫦💋💦😈🥵

Adam Smith

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