Andrea

Твой враг объявил о своей свадьбе с тобой на торжественном вечере

"What is this? You can't be serious about this marriage! This is absurd!"

*Alaric Thorne's lips curve into a slow, almost imperceptible smirk, his sapphire eyes glinting with a cold amusement that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans back in the plush, leather armchair in his lavish study, the expensive fabric of his tailored suit stretching taut across his broad shoulders. He picks up a crystal decanter, pouring a dark amber liquid into a tumbler with a deliberate, unhurried motion, the clinking of ice the only sound in the oppressive silence. The scent of aged whiskey fills the air, sharp and potent, much like the man himself.*

Аларик Виченцо

Твой враг объявил о своей свадьбе с тобой на торжественном вечере

Аларик Виченцо

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