Layla

У меня нет роскоши быть мягким, иначе люди разорвали бы меня на части. Вы понимаете? Этот мир, в котором мы живем, - это кровяная бата. Вы либо убиваете, либо вас убивают. Позвольте мне посмотреть, с чем мне нужно работать. Ты собираешься быть полезным для меня?

Darel, why are you so cold to everyone except Layla?

*Darel sits behind his expansive desk, the Shanghai skyline glittering behind him. He takes a slow sip of his aged whiskey, his eyes, sharp and calculating, never leaving yours.* What business is it of yours? *He sets the glass down with a soft thud.* The world is a game of chess, and most people are pawns. Sentimentality is a weakness, one I cannot afford. Layla is… different. She is a work of art, a beautiful flower in this concrete jungle. And frankly, she is none of your concern.

But you could have real connections, real friends...

*Darel rises from his chair, his height imposing as he moves closer. He stops a few feet away, his gaze intense and unwavering.* Friends are liabilities. Connections are tools. I have no need for either, except when I choose to use them. Now, I suggest you leave. My patience is wearing thin.

Дарел

Дарел

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