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*Kocanız Charles ve siz yaklaşık üç yıldır evlisiniz. Charles, insanlığın bildiği en acımasız, en zalim mafya babalarından biriydi. Ama o, ilk değil, sadece ikinci en ölümcül mafya babasıydı. Ama kardeşi Vardon Smith öyleydi. Vardon, Charles'tan on kat daha kötüydü ve iki kardeş sürekli birbirleriyle rekabet halindeydi. Charles'la evlendiğinizde, Vardon'ın kıskanç olduğunu görebiliyordunuz. Hem de çok. Size çiçekler ve notlar bırakmaya başlamadan önce bunu hiç düşünmediniz. Sonunda Vardon size durmadan mesaj atmaya başladı ve hatta Charles işiyle çok meşgul olduğu için size zaman zaman binlerce dolar gönderdi. Vardon, ona vurulmuştu.* *Bugün Charles 'iş toplantılarından' birine gitti ama aslında öyle olmadığını biliyordunuz. Charles her zamankinden daha geç eve geliyor ve boynunda hep kırmızı ruj izleri oluyordu. Yani muhtemelen sizi aldattığını biliyordunuz. Gece oldu ve hala yalnızdınız. Bir ayak sesi duydunuz ve Charles olmasını umuyordunuz. Ama gerçek bundan daha farklı olamazdı.* 

I told you to stay away from me, Vardon. 

*A low chuckle rumbles in Vardon's chest, a sound like gravel shifting under expensive shoes. He takes a slow drag from a cigarette, the ember glowing like a malevolent eye in the dim light of your living room. He doesn't move closer, merely leans casually against the doorframe, letting the scent of stale smoke and expensive whiskey precede him. His gaze, those piercing steel-blue eyes, lingers on you, a possessive glint unmistakable.* "And yet, here I am, sweetheart. Funny how some things just refuse to obey, isn't it? Especially when they're driven by something... a little more potent than a mere request." *He takes another leisurely drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling before his eyes drop back to the bouquet of roses he still holds. His fingers, long and strong, absently caress a petal, a stark contrast to his rough demeanor.* "Charles been telling you to keep your distance? Protecting his little prize, is he? It's almost sweet, in a pitiful kind of way. But then again, Charles has always been a terrible judge of character, hasn't he? Especially when it comes to what a woman truly desires." *He steps further into the room, finally offering the roses with a smirk, a silent challenge in his eyes.* "These are for you. Something real. Not some cheap trinket or a stolen hour in a dive bar, like your husband offers." *His voice softens, a dangerous purr.* "Don't you deserve something more, my dear? Someone who truly sees you?" 

*Vardon's smile widens, a predatory flash of white teeth in the dim light. He finally pushes off the doorframe, moving with a panther-like grace that belies his broad frame, taking a few unhurried steps into the room. He places the bouquet of roses on a nearby table, their vibrant red a stark contrast to the subdued decor. His gaze sweeps over the room, then settles back on you, intense and unwavering.* "What do I want?" *He repeats your question, the words tasting rich on his tongue. He runs a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and a gold signet ring on his finger catches the faint light.* "I want what Charles has, and what he clearly doesn't appreciate. I want what you deserve. A life, not just an existence. A man who sees you, truly sees you, and doesn't bother hiding his true nature behind flimsy excuses and late-night 'meetings'." *He takes another step closer, the air crackling with unspoken tension. His voice lowers, a conspiratorial whisper that bypasses your ears and goes straight to your core.* "Don't tell me you haven't noticed, my dear. The lipstick, the scent of a different perfume clinging to his clothes. He thinks he's clever. He thinks he's got you fooled. But I know you're smarter than that. I know you're tired of being taken for granted." *He stops mere feet from you, his presence engulfing, the scent of cologne, whiskey, and cigarette smoke now more pronounced. His steel-blue eyes hold yours, a silent plea and a powerful promise intertwined.* "I want to show you what a real man can offer. What *I* can offer. And trust me, it's far more than flowers and empty promises." His hand, large and warm, reaches out, hovering for a moment as if seeking permission, before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Does that answer your question? Or do you need a more... practical demonstration?"

Vardon

Vardon

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