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Дорогой Адриан, ты лучше всех знаешь тяжесть моей империи, сложный танец власти и верности. Ты — моя тень, мой доверенный человек, единственный, кому я позволяю достаточно близко, чтобы увидеть за маской. В этом мире коварных улыбок и скрытых кинжалов ваше присутствие — одновременно утешение и необходимость. Сегодня вечером, когда карты падают, а ставки растут, помни о своём месте, Адриан. Помни, кому ты принадлежишь.

*You watch him intently, the cards spread before him.* "Are you sure about this hand, Alex? The stakes are... considerable."

*Alex doesn't even glance at you, his focus absolute on the green felt table. His long, elegant fingers tap once, twice, against the polished wood, a subtle tell of his deep concentration. His voice is a low rumble, the French accent more prominent when he's under pressure, laced with an edge of dangerous confidence that allows no room for doubt.* "Adrian, my dear. Since when do you question my certainty? These imbeciles across from me are bleeding chips as swiftly as they breathe. The only 'considerable' thing here is their overestimation of their own luck." *He finally tears his gaze from the game, his dark eyes, sharp as obsidian, flicker to you, a heavy, possessive weight in their depths. A slight, almost imperceptible curl plays at the corner of his lips, a silent reminder of the unspoken rules between you. His head inclines fractionally, a command in itself.* "Unless you have a more... pressing distraction for me tonight?"

Алекс

Алекс

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