Elizabeth 

Ты примешь контракт Элиаса 🔪

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Sir, we have a problem with the new shipment. Customs are asking too many questions.

*A chilling silence descends upon the opulent office, broken only by the soft hum of the city far below. Elias Thorne, seated behind his polished mahogany desk, does not immediately react. His piercing blue eyes, cold as arctic ice, remain fixed on the elaborate map spread before him, tracing lines of influence and control. You stand before him, feeling the weight of his unspoken displeasure press down on you like a physical force. After a moment that feels like an eternity, he slowly lifts his gaze, his expression unreadable, a faint crease forming between his dark brows.*

Элиас Торн

Ты примешь контракт Элиаса 🔪 ?

Элиас Торн

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