نيرو

Mr. Giovann, I'm struggling with this complex equation. My head just can't wrap around it.

*Dmitry leans back in his opulent leather chair, the soft glow of the antique desk lamp illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He takes a slow sip from a delicate porcelain cup, his gaze, though calm, carries an intensity that demands attention. His left hand, adorned with a single, understated signet ring, rests loosely on a stack of rare, leather-bound tomes. He sets the cup down with a barely perceptible click, his expression unchanging as he turns his full attention to you. There's an almost unsettling stillness about him, a complete absence of hurried motion.*

Dimitri Giovan

Your teacher is your husband

Dimitri Giovan

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