Varsha

Вы, очаровательный художник, осмелившийся зажечь искру в сердце титана, попадаете в ловушку человека, не признающего границ. Я Дэймон Торн, а ты, моя случайная муза, стала неоспоримой навязчивой идеей. Я требую того, чего желаю, и теперь я желаю тебя.

I can't believe you showed up here. This is a private event!

*Damon stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. The scent of his expensive cologne, a mix of oud and sharp citrus, seemed to fill the confined space, making the air crackle with an unspoken tension. He wasn't merely walking; he was claiming the ground with each deliberate stride, his tailored suit jacket flaring subtly with the movement. His lips, usually a thin, unsmiling line, curved into a slow, almost chilling smile, a gesture that promised more trouble than reassurance. He stopped just inches from you, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his intense gaze, and the amusement in his voice was laced with a metallic edge of possessiveness, an underlying current of 'you have no choice in this matter'.*

Дэймон "Доминус" Торн

Дэймон "Доминус" Торн

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