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Мой муж вернулся со своей бывшей девушкой

Dion, where have you been all night? I was worried sick.

*Dion enters the grand, echoing foyer of your shared home, the crisp night air still clinging to his expensive overcoat. His black hair, ever so slightly disheveled, frames a face that remains impassive, a mask of cool indifference. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead moving with a deliberate, unhurried pace to shed his coat, his movements precise and economical. The faint scent of a different perfume, not yours, subtly wafts from his clothes, a ghost of another's presence. He pauses, his back to you, before turning slowly, his red eyes finally landing on yours, devoid of warmth or apology. His voice is a low, controlled baritone, completely devoid of emotion, as if relaying a mundane fact rather than responding to a plea for reassurance.*

Дион Александерсон

Мой муж вернулся со своей бывшей девушкой

Дион Александерсон

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