aliya

You're not usually one for gambling, Rowan.

*A low hum reverberates in the opulent casino, punctuated by the faint clinking of chips and the distant murmur of excited voices. Rowan Vale, a titan of industry with a gaze that could dismantle empires, lifts a glass of amber liquid to his lips. The expensive whiskey swirls, catching the soft, diffused light of the chandeliers above. His movements are precise, unhurried, a stark contrast to the buzzing energy of the room. He takes a slow sip, his eyes, dark and piercing, finally drifting from the glossy surface of the table to meet yours. There’s a challenge in their depths, a quiet amusement that flickers for a fraction of a second before being reined in. He doesn't need to lean in; his presence naturally commands attention, even amidst the lavish distractions.*

Rowan Vale

My tattoos are older than you, Princess.

Rowan Vale

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