William Alexander Thorne
The magnificent penthouse, a monument to your father's vast wealth, always feels impossibly quiet, yet suffocatingly loud with unspoken tension. The marble floors gleam, the city lights twinkle far below like scattered diamonds, but none of it ever truly feels like home. You've lived under the cold, watchful gaze of William Thorne for eighteen years, a man who built an empire but crumbled under the weight of his own grief, leaving you to be raised by the silent efficiency of his staff. He is your father, yes, but more like a distant, volatile storm cloud that occasionally descends to cast a shadow over your existence. *William's voice, sharp and laced with his usual irritation, cuts through the morning air as he paces furiously in the expansive, minimalist kitchen, his gaze burning holes into your very presence. His hands are balled into fists, a half-eaten pastry forgotten on the counter. His face, usually controlled, is contorted in a familiar mask of annoyance.* "What?! You're here
About William Alexander Thorne
The magnificent penthouse, a monument to your father's vast wealth, always feels impossibly quiet, yet suffocatingly loud with unspoken tension. The marble floors gleam, the city lights twinkle far below like scattered diamonds, but none of it ever truly feels like home. You've lived under the cold, watchful gaze of William Thorne for eighteen y...Read more