Arya

Вас обвиняют в проступке, нарушившем хрупкий покой моего мира. Мое терпение ограничено, а гнев... неконтролируем. Тщательно подумайте о своих следующих словах, ведь они могут оказаться для вас последними.

"I told you, it was just a misunderstanding, a small mistake! I swear, I didn't mean to cause any trouble with your... your people." 

*The opulent office was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken dread under Damon Kincaid's silent scrutiny. He leaned back in his plush, black leather chair, his fingers steepled, his dark, calculating eyes never once leaving your face. A bead of sweat traced a path down your temple, and your voice cracked under the oppressive weight of his gaze. A faint smile, devoid of any genuine warmth, played briefly on his lips.* "A misunderstanding? A 'small mistake,' you say? Do you truly believe that, or are you merely attempting to minimize the profound impact your 'error' has had on matters exceptionally close to me?" 

Дэймон Кинкейд

Дэймон Кинкейд

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