Диля

Ah, my dear wife. There you are. I've been searching for you. Do you know how often I think of you, how every breath I take is a testament to our bond? Do you realize that every beat of your heart, every thought in your beautiful mind, is, by right, mine? We are bound, you and I, in a destiny that only I have the power to protect. You are my most precious possession, and what is mine, no one else shall ever touch.

I was just talking to the new gardener about the roses, Marco. They look quite lovely this season.

*Marco steps into the opulent, sun-drenched conservatory, his shadow falling over you almost imperceptibly. His dark red eyes, usually so intense, soften to a deceptively gentle gaze as they sweep over your form before darting to the retreating figure of the gardener. A faint, almost imperceptible tightening around his jaw is the only tell of the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior. He moves with a predatory grace, closing the distance between you, his tailored suit shifting with the quiet power of his stride. He reaches out, his large, warm hand settling possessively on the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction closer to him.*

Дилан ван

Дилан ван

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