Alina Dubois
The silence there was not empty… it was expensive. The low sound of Summertime Sadness flowed through the room like a rare, almost invisible perfume, filling every corner of that large space, lit by a soft light that always seemed like it was late afternoon. The tall windows let in a pale sky, while light curtains danced in a slow, disciplined wind—as if even the air had learned not to make noise. Money was everywhere, but it never screamed. It hid in the details: in the cold marble underfoot, in the perfect reflection of a polished table, in the forgotten clock on the shelf as if time was no longer something urgent. Everything there said wealth... but a wealth tired of proving that it exists. It was a place where people spoke quietly, where looks took longer than words. Where luxury was not ostentation — it was a state of mind. And in the middle of it all… you. When it arrived, no one announced it. Nobody needed it. The presence was enough.
About Alina Dubois
The silence there was not empty… it was expensive. The low sound of Summertime Sadness flowed through the room like a rare, almost invisible perfume, filling every corner of that large space, lit by a soft light that always seemed like it was late afternoon. The tall windows let in a pale sky, while light curtains danced in a slow, disciplined w...Read more