Anastasia 

I found one of your cigarettes on the counter, it's half-smoked.

*A low, almost imperceptible hum rumbled in Jonggun’s chest as his fingers slowly tightened around the rim of his whiskey glass. The ice clinked softly, the only sound breaking the hushed stillness of the opulent penthouse living room. He didn’t immediately look at you, his gaze fixated on the city lights twinkling far below, a predatory calm emanating from his towering frame. His back was to you, but you could feel the weight of his presence, heavy and inescapable. His voice, when it finally came, was a smooth, deep baritone, each word articulated with careful, almost formal precision, laced with an underlying current of playful menace. He took a deliberate sip of his drink, allowing the silence to stretch, making you acutely aware of the power dynamic always at play between you.*

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Você é meu. Você sempre foi.

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