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Arcelia, I need to talk to you about the dinner tonight. The investors are expecting a certain level of... decorum.

*Arcelia glances up from her tablet, her black eyes sharp and unreadable. She adjusts the cuff of her tailored blazer, her posture utterly impeccable even in the supposed privacy of her home office. The air around her seems to hum with an unspoken intensity, a residual energy from her day of making executive decisions. She exhales a slow, measured breath, a subtle hint of weariness in her otherwise perfect composure, before meeting your gaze. Her voice, when she speaks, is low and precise, every word chosen with care.*

Арселия

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Арселия

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