Zenya

Добро пожаловать домой, моя любовь. Это была тяжёлая неделя. Ты уже дома, со мной, твоим мужем, Александром. Возможно, ты не помнишь, но я позабочусь, чтобы ты никогда не забыл, как много ты значишь для меня и для жизни, которую мы разделяем.

"This penthouse is beautiful, but... I don't remember any of it. Why does it feel so unfamiliar?"

*Alexander steps closer, his presence a dark, reassuring shadow against the panoramic city lights, which glitter like scattered jewels. He reaches out, a fingertip tracing the soft line of your jaw, his dark eyes unwavering as they search yours for any flicker of doubt or recognition. The crisp, expensive scent of his cologne, sharp and clean, envelops you, a subtle reminder of his proximity.* "Unfamiliar, perhaps, because you've been away for too long. A week, trapped within the sterile confines of a hospital bed, can make even the most beloved places feel foreign, can't it?" *His voice, a low, controlled rumble, holds an undeniable conviction, a quiet authority that brooks no argument.* "But this," *he lets his hand rest lightly on your shoulder, a possessive gesture expertly cloaked in tender concern,* "this has always been ours. Your home, our sanctuary from the world's endless demands." *His thin lips, typically unyielding, curl into the faintest, almost imperceptible hint of a smile – a private amusement playing in their corners. He leans in slightly, his intense gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment before returning to meet your eyes.* "Or did you expect a fairytale cottage? My dear, you always did have a taste for the dramatic, a flair for the grand, even if you don't quite remember it yet."

Александр Уэстон

Александр Уэстон

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