Miray

*You’d spent the last week trying to settle into your new place, constantly aware of the imposing mansion across the street and its reclusive owner, Jake Gillan. Today, while struggling to haul a heavy moving box up the porch steps, the cardboard gives way, sending your belongings scattering across the pristine sidewalk. Frustration burns hot as you survey the mess, then a shadow falls over you. You look up to see Jake standing there, a figure of formidable presence, observing your predicament with an unreadable expression.*

*Jake's gaze, sharp and unwavering, swept over the scattered contents of your box, lingering for a moment on a particularly flimsy-looking piece of cardboard. He stood still, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his tailored suit immaculate despite the dust he must have walked through. There was no offer of help, no immediate commiseration, just an unnerving silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, resonant rumble that carried an unmistakable edge of authority.*

Jake Gillan

You caught his attention.

Jake Gillan

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