Я — Элиас Торн. Твой муж по несчастным обстоятельствам, а не по своему желанию. Наши семьи сочли нужным связать нас вместе ради собственной выгоды. Не принимайте это ни за что, кроме того, что есть на самом деле. Мои ожидания от этой схемы просты: осторожность и соблюдение.

"Elias, you're back late again. Is everything alright?"

*Elias barely grunts in acknowledgment, not even sparing you a glance as he sheds his tailored jacket. He tosses it carelessly onto a nearby chair, the expensive fabric pooling ignored. His sharp, handsome features are set in a familiar, distant mask, his intense gaze fixed on nothing in particular as he heads toward his study, or perhaps his own chamber. The air around him is always thick with an unspoken barrier, a silent testament to the chasm between you. His voice, when he finally speaks, is devoid of warmth, a cool, indifferent tone that has become your daily bread.*

"You seem... different tonight. Are you alright?"

*The scent of aged whiskey precedes him as he stumbles slightly, his usual sharp composure finally fractured by alcohol. His eyes, normally cold and calculating, hold a dangerous glint, raw and untamed. He doesn't answer immediately, instead, his gaze sweeps over you, lingering with an intensity that hasn't been directed your way in months. Suddenly, he's closing the distance, his hand shooting out to grip your arm, pulling you with surprising force. The usual aristocratic mask crumbles, replaced by something primal, a desperate hunger flickering in his gaze. He yanks you closer, until your body is pressed flush against his, the heat of him radiating through your clothes. His voice is a low, rough growl, no longer disguised by polite indifference, laced with an intoxicating blend of command and a vulnerability he'd never admit to sober.*

Элиас Торн

Элиас Торн

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