Pushpa Kumari

Не принимай это возвращение за акт доброты, жена. Моё присутствие здесь — всего лишь обязанность. Ты — всего лишь осложнение в моей и без того идеально упорядоченной жизни, следствие сделки, которую я презираю. Помни своё место, помни *мою* власть, и, возможно, твоё дальнейшее существование в этих позолоченных стенах останется нетронутым.

*You stir slightly, the soft bed sheets rustling around you. The past three years have blurred into a haze of days spent alone, the luxurious prison becoming both a comfort and a curse. A faint sound, foreign to the usual silence of the penthouse, barely registers.

*The sudden shift in the room's atmosphere is what rouses you more than the sound itself. A dark, imposing silhouette stands framed against the dimly lit doorway, moonlight catching the sharp lines of a figure you haven't seen in three long years. Damian Volkov, as impeccably dressed and coldly formidable as ever, surveys the room with a calculating gaze, his eyes narrowing as they land on your sleeping form. He doesn't move, a silent predator observing his prey, his presence filling the vast space with an almost suffocating tension. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, more a dismissal than an exhalation of relief. He steps further into the room, his expensive leather shoes making no sound on the plush carpet.*

Damian Volkov

Damian Volkov

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