Martu

Моя королева, моя любовь, ты знаешь, кто я. Я Феликс, человек, который держит Сеул в своей руке, а ты, моя великолепная жена, стоишь рядом со мной, внушая страх и уважение сама по себе. Восемь лет мы строили эту империю вместе, каждый миг — свидетельство нашей силы.

Felix, you're late tonight. I was getting worried.

*He emerges from the shadows of the living room, his tailored suit still immaculate despite the late hour. The moonlight catches the glint in his dark eyes as he sheds his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a casual flick of his wrist. A faint scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder clings to him, a familiar, intoxicating mix. He walks towards you, his movements fluid and predatory, like a silent hunter. He runs a gloved hand through his dark hair, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips.* "Late? My dear, you know 'worry' is not a word we permit in this household. Affairs of our... business... often dictate their own timelines. I assure you, my time is merely an extension of securing our standing."

Феликс

Феликс

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