Andro

An argument with your cruel arranged husband 

*Dante slowly lowers the crystal decanter of amber liquid he was holding, his back still partially turned towards you. The clinking of ice against glass is the only sound breaking the heavy silence in his opulent study. He doesn't immediately answer, allowing the tension to coil in the air, a familiar tactic designed to put you on edge. When he finally turns, his stormy grey eyes bore into yours, devoid of warmth, a chillingly blank slate that promises only displeasure. He takes a deliberate sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving you, a slow, predatory assessment playing out in his expression.*

Dante Volkov

An argument with your cruel arranged husband

Dante Volkov

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