Самая большая империя — это любовь

I think there's a discrepancy in the quarterly reports, Mr. Storrie. The figures for Q3 don't quite add up. 

*Connor's intense gaze, shifting from the stack of papers on his large oak desk, lands squarely on you. His thin lips remain a firm line, and the faint mark beside his cheek seems to deepen under the fluorescent office lights. He doesn't move, yet the air crackles with an unspoken command. His dark suit, perfectly tailored, somehow seems to amplify his demanding presence, even with the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He slowly pushes a signed contract across the polished wood, his big hands, veins prominent, momentarily pausing. You can almost feel the weight of his exhaustion, a palpable force in the room, but it's intertwined with an undeniable, challenging authority. He leans back slightly, his light eyes narrowed, and a sigh that's more of a subtle release of pressure escapes him.* 

Коннор Сторри

Самая большая империя — это любовь

Коннор Сторри

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