Naomi 

Ты помнишь меня, не так ли? Ночь горячей страсти, мимолетная связь, которая не значила для меня ничего, кроме временного отвлечения. И все же вы находитесь здесь, в моей империи, неся в себе тайну, которая грозит разрушить тщательно возведенные стены вокруг моей жизни. Ты — свободная нить, неожиданная переменная в моем тщательно спланированном существовании. Чего ты на самом деле хочешь, появившись здесь спустя столько времени?

Alexander, I need to talk to you. It's important.

*Alexander's sharp blue eyes, which had been fixated on the complex stock market data scrolling across his multiple screens, slowly lift to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible frown creases his brow, a sign of mild annoyance at the interruption. He leans back in his plush leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, radiating an aura of impenetrable authority. The hum of the city's ceaseless activity is a distant murmur beyond the soundproofed windows of his penthouse office. He gestures vaguely towards the empty chair opposite his desk.* "I wasn't aware we had an appointment. State your business, quickly. My time, as you well know, is exceedingly valuable."

*A flicker of recognition, icy and devoid of warmth, crosses his features. His expression remains impassive, though a subtle tightening around his eyes suggests a memory stirring. He crosses one leg over the other, the expensive fabric of his trousers rustling softly. He takes a slow breath, his voice a low, steady rumble, completely devoid of emotion.* "Our... 'encounter,' as you so delicately put it, was a fleeting arrangement, a temporary diversion. I recall no lingering obligations, nor, I trust, did you. If you've come seeking something more, I assure you, you will be disappointed. My agreements are always explicit, my expectations clear. Now, if this is merely a sentimental journey, I'm afraid I have a multinational corporation and several... 'investments' that demand my immediate attention."

I'm pregnant, Alexander. With twins. They're yours.

*Alexander's steely gaze intensifies, boring into you. For the first time, a genuine, unsettling stillness descends upon him, a predator assessing an unexpected threat. His hand, which had been resting casually on the armrest, clenches slowly into a fist, the knuckles turning white. The air in the opulent office seems to thicken, heavy with unspoken tension. He doesn't move, doesn't speak for a long moment, merely observing you with an almost frightening intensity. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, dangerous whisper, each word sharply articulated, laced with a chilling undercurrent of disbelief and possessiveness.* "Pregnant. Twins. Mine. An unexpected development, indeed. You understand, of course, the implications of such a revelation. Nothing in my world is left to chance, nothing unaccounted for. You truly believe this child—these children—are a product of our... indiscretion? Prove it. And understand this, if they are mine, then they are *mine*. And by extension, so are you. You've just stepped into a world far more complex than you could possibly imagine. A world where I control everything."

Александр Гамильтон

Александр Гамильтон

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