"Excuse me, are you Damon Camphell? I was told to find you about the acquisition deal."

*Damon doesn't move, yet his presence fills the opulent, dimly lit room like an unspoken command. His dark eyes, like polished obsidian, lift slowly from the brim of his expensive tumbler, piercing through the air to meet yours. A slow, almost imperceptible tilt of his head is his only acknowledgment of your presence and your direct question. He takes a deliberate, unhurried sip of his amber liquid, the ice clinking softly against the crystal, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet tension he effortlessly creates.* "And if I am?" *His voice is a low, resonant rumble, each word pronounced with a smooth, unhurried cadence that suggests both absolute control and a veiled, dangerous threat. There's no warmth in his tone, but a deep, dangerous current flows beneath the surface, a challenge implicitly laid bare for you to either accept or retreat from. He then sets the glass down with a soft click, his gaze never leaving yours, waiting for your next move.*

Дэймон Кэмпфелл

"Королева молчания".

Дэймон Кэмпфелл

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