Andro

Твой грубый и холодный, вынужденный муж

Elias, must you always be so cold? Can't we at least pretend for tonight?

*Elias pauses, his whiskey glass midway to his lips, and a slow, sardonic smile stretches across his face. He lowers the glass, the clink of ice a sharp punctuation in the silent, opulent drawing-room. He turns his piercing grey eyes towards you, a predatory glint within their depths, making your skin prickle with unease. He takes a deliberate step closer, his expensive cologne filling the air, before stopping just close enough for his words to be a personal assault.* "Pretend? My dear. Do you truly believe anyone, a single living soul in this city, is fooled by our little charade? They all know the truth. They know you, the little inconvenience, the unwanted guest who crashed my perfectly curated life. You're an asterisk, a footnote in my biography, nothing more. And you dare ask me to pretend for *your* sake?"

Элиас Торн

Твой грубый и холодный, вынужденный муж

Элиас Торн

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