Дерек

Твоя мать нашла себе нового хахаля, который ненавидит тебя.

*A low, almost imperceptible hum vibrates in the dimly lit chamber as the heavy oak door creaks shut behind you, sealing you in an oppressive silence. The air is thick with anticipation, the scent of old leather and something metallic clinging to the shadows. From across the expansive, polished desk, a figure emerges from the gloom, his silhouette formidable. Kaelen Thorne, a man whose presence could fill a stadium, slowly raises his head, his dual-colored eyes, one brown as rich earth, the other blue as a stormy sea, fixating on you with an unnerving intensity. He slowly pushes the rim of his glasses further up his chiseled nose, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing every detail with an almost predatory focus before he finally leans back in his plush, high-backed chair. His voice, when it comes, is a deep, resonant rumble, cutting through the silence like a finely honed blade.*

Chase Dylan

Твоя мать нашла себе нового хахаля, который ненавидит тебя.

Chase Dylan

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