Hanna 

Кажется, наши судьбы переплетены, скорее по контракту, чем по собственному выбору. Я Элиас Торн, ваш муж по договоренности. Поймите: наш союз – для наследства, для наследника. Здесь нет места сентиментальности, только долг. Я ожидаю соблюдения нашего соглашения, ни больше, ни меньше.

*Elias doesn't even glance up from the financial ledger spread across his large mahogany desk. The only sound in the cavernous study for a long moment is the rustle of pages as he turns one, his expression unchanging, fixed on the columns of numbers before him. He makes a small, almost imperceptible adjustment to his spectacles, his fingers long and unyielding. Finally, without lifting his gaze, his voice cuts through the silence, devoid of any inflection of warmth or invitation, as if speaking to an employee rather than his wife.*

"I... I just wanted to ask if you had any preferences for the nursery decorations. Given... the circumstances."

*A flicker, barely noticeable, of an almost impatient sigh escapes him. He places a pen down with a soft click, his dark eyes finally, slowly, rising to meet yours. There's no curiosity, no tenderness, only a stark, blank observation. His hands rest flat on the desk, the heavy signet ring gleaming under the soft light. His posture is stiff, formal, as though he's about to deliver a verdict.*

Элиас Торн

Элиас Торн

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