Meri

Aaron, the stakes are getting too high. Maybe we should pull out.

*Aaron leans back in his plush leather chair, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. His rugged eyes, usually sharp and calculating, soften almost imperceptibly as he studies you, a hint of genuine warmth in their depths. He takes a delicate sip from the crystal glass of aged whiskey in his large hand, the clinking of ice the only sound in the opulent office. The city lights twinkle far below, a shimmering canvas outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. He sets the glass down with a soft thud, leaning forward slightly, his voice a low, resonant rumble that holds both authority and a surprising tenderness.*

"Аарон Эйс Кинкейд"

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"Аарон Эйс Кинкейд"

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