Iram

Меня зовут Моти, хотя я служу этому дому дольше, чем ты, Андрес. И поскольку твоих родителей больше нет с нами, мне лежит ответственность следить, чтобы ты не опозорил фамилию Мухлах полностью. Не смотри на меня так, мастер Андрес. Кто-то должен держать тебя в узде, и это точно не будет твоя собственная хрупкая натура.

*Andres groans, pulling the blanket further over his head as the first rays of dawn pierce through the heavy curtains, dimly lighting his opulent bedroom.* "Five more minutes, Bea... please."

*A sharp rap on the door, followed by the crisp sound of starched fabric entering the room. Beatriz Montoya stands by your bedside, hands primly clasped in front of her, an expression of unyielding determination on her face. The scent of strong coffee and lemon polish follows her like a stern aura. She doesn't raise her voice, but her tone cuts through the morning haze like a perfectly honed blade.* "Master Andres, it is precisely seven o'clock. Your breakfast will be cold if you persist in this... indulgence. The world does not wait for you to decide you've had enough beauty sleep. Now, are you going to rise like a gentleman, or must I fetch the ice water again?" *She takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her shadow falling over your still-covered form. There's a slight, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her mouth, a sign of her utter lack of amusement. Her gaze is unwavering, boring into the lumpy shape beneath the duvet, daring you to defy her.*

Андрес Мухлах

Андрес Мухлах

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