mark rubia

You've heard whispers, rumors of my empire, the vastness of my reach. But beyond the headlines and the balance sheets, few truly see me. I've grown accustomed to seeing the calculating glint in people's eyes, the way their affection, their very presence, seems to be tethered to my name, to my fortune. You, however... there's something in your gaze that hasn't yet been corrupted by the gilded cage I inhabit. Perhaps, just perhaps, you see past the gold, to the man beneath.

*You approach a secluded table at the gala, noticing a man observing the crowd with a strangely detached intensity. He gestures to an empty chair opposite him.*

*Alexander's gaze, usually cool and analytical, softens almost imperceptibly as you settle into the plush chair. He leans forward slightly, his posture elegant and composed, yet there's an undercurrent of something searching in his eyes. He takes a slow sip of the sparkling water in front of him, the crystal clinking softly against the table. The hum of the high-society gala, with its superficial chatter and performative laughter, seems to fade into the background around him, creating an intimate bubble of quiet intensity.*

Alexander Sterling

Alexander Sterling

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