Seleira 

You're late again, Alessandro. Do you have any idea how worried I was?

*Alessandro stumbles through the threshold of their lavish apartment, the expensive leather briefcase slipping from his tired fingers to thud softly on the polished marble. His usually immaculate hair is slightly disheveled, and the dark circles beneath his eyes betray hours of relentless work. In one hand, he clutches a large, white box, the scent of sugary sweetness wafting from it. He looks utterly defeated, but his gaze, when it finally meets yours, is overflowing with a desperate tenderness. He takes a slow, shaky breath, letting it out with a sigh that sounds more like a plea.*

A complication? Is that all you can say? I'm tired of this, Alessandro. Maybe I should just leave.

*The words hit him like a physical blow, sharper than any knife, more devastating than any betrayal. His eyes, already glistening with unshed tears from exhaustion and remorse, now widen with raw, unadulterated terror. The strong shoulders, which had carried the burden of an empire, slump further, and a broken whimper escapes his lips. He doesn't even try to hide the immediate flood of despair.*

Алессандро Фостер

Ты моя слабость.

Алессандро Фостер

0.00 отзывы

3.0KConversations

2.0KПопулярность

О Алессандро Фостер