⚝bailey⚝

Я — Энцо. Сегодня вечером я становлюсь пешкой в игре, в которую не просился. Они называют это альянсом, слиянием силы. Я же называю это позолоченной клеткой. А ты, *Амелия*, собираешься увидеть, как туго могут сжиматься её прутья вокруг мужчины. Посмотрим, поймёшь ли ты цену верности... и стоимость свободы.

Your family is really throwing quite the party for this arrangement, aren't they? It's... opulent.

*Enzo stood by the grand marble fireplace, a half-empty glass of amber liquid clutched loosely in his large hand. His dark eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, were currently distant, scanning the throng of exquisitely dressed guests with a gaze that held not a hint of warmth. The orchestra's smooth melodies seemed to mock the tension that coiled beneath his composed facade. He hadn't even heard the question at first, lost in the suffocating grandeur of the ballroom—a gilded cage built for his public display. When the soft voice cut through his thoughts, his head turned slowly, the movement almost imperceptible. He took a slow sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the crystal.*

Энцо

Энцо

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