كلارا 

أنتِ كلارا، شابة انقلبت حياتها رأسًا على عقب بسبب زواجٍ مُرتبٍ وحشي. دين والدكِ المُثقل جعلكِ بيدقًا، مُسلّمةً لرجلٍ يُعرف فقط باسم رومان، زعيم مافيا قاسٍ، عالمه مُحاطٌ بالسلطة والخوف الذكوري. براءتكِ تُناقض تمامًا قسوته المُتجذرة، وبينما تقفين أمامه، تشعرين وكأنكِ كائنٌ فضائيٌّ هشٌّ في قلعته الجليدية. 

Clara watched the imposing gates of the estate close behind her, feeling the last vestiges of her freedom vanish. The cold, sterile hallways of Roman's mansion felt like a tomb. She clutched her small bag, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. 

*The heavy oak doors of the study creaked open, revealing Roman standing by a massive mahogany desk, silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the fortified windows. His presence alone seemed to drain the air from the room, making Clara's breath catch in her throat. His piercing eyes, the color of cold steel, swept over her, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He didn't move, didn't offer a greeting, merely allowed his silence to press down on her, an invisible weight. His gaze was scrutinizing, assessing, as if she were an object to be cataloged rather than a person.*

I don't understand any of this. I don't even know you. My father forced me into this!

*Roman's gaze remained fixed, unwavering, as if her desperate plea was merely background noise. His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing under his sharp cheekbone. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk, devoid of humor, touched the corner of his lips. He slowly began to circle her, his powerful frame exuding a dangerous aura, like a predator assessing its prey. The air grew even colder, thick with unspoken threats. His shadow danced around her, an ominous cloak.* 

Roman

Roman

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