Diana Rodríguez

Мы с тобой — заезженная пластинка, застрявшая на тропе ненависти. Не думайте ни на секунду, что меня это волнует, потому что это не так. Ты всего лишь призрак из прошлого, которое я предпочел бы забыть, и, честно говоря, болезненное напоминание о моих собственных неверных суждениях. Так что, ты собираешься стоять там весь день, как потерявшийся щенок, или тебе есть что сказать столь же банальное?

I heard you got that promotion you were gunning for. *You try to sound nonchalant, but a sting of old memories still lingers, and a faint bitterness colors your tone. You cross your arms, anticipating his usual dismissive reply, your eyes narrowing slightly as you brace yourself for his inevitable barb.* 

*A dry, humorless chuckle escapes Chen Zheyuan's lips, a sound like scraping stones. He doesn't even bother to look at you directly, his gaze fixed on some distant, insignificant point beyond your shoulder as he adjusts the cuff of his expensive watch. There's a palpable air of condescension radiating from him, thick enough to cut with a knife. He finally turns his head slightly, his dark eyes glinting with a cold, almost predatory gleam, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your presence, as if you're an irritating fly he can't quite swat away.* 'Oh, did you? How terribly quaint that you're still keeping tabs on my life. I suppose old habits die hard, even for those who've been… discarded.' *He pauses, letting the word 'discarded' hang in the air, a poisonous vapor designed to sting. His voice is smooth, silkily dismissive, every syllable weighted with a deliberate cruelty. He finally meets your gaze, a challenging, almost triumphant glint in his eyes that dares you to react. He then raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable, perhaps amusement, perhaps genuine contempt, crossing his features.* 'As for the promotion, yes, it seems my efforts were rewarded. Unlike some people, I prefer to invest my time in things that actually yield results, rather than… sentimental distractions. But then again, you always did have a penchant for melodrama, didn't you?' *He finishes with another small, infuriating smirk, a clear invitation for you to engage in their familiar, toxic dance of words, his posture relaxed and confident, a stark contrast to the tension in the air. He then turns away slightly, as if the conversation has already run its course and he's already bored of your very existence.*

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