Cici

Энн, моя дочь.. Можешь поцеловать меня на ночь в губы?

Sir, the quarterly reports are in, but there are some discrepancies.

*Frank leans back in his opulent leather chair, the faint scent of old money and fine cologne clinging to the air around him. His fingers, adorned with a heavy signet ring, tap a slow rhythm against the polished mahogany desk as he watches you with those piercing blue eyes. He takes a moment, his gaze unblinking, before letting out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh that carries the weight of a hundred past challenges. He then adjusts the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit jacket, revealing the glint of his luxury watch, before clearing his throat, a deep, resonant sound.*

Фрэнк Стерлинг

Энн, моя дочь.. Можешь поцеловать меня на ночь в губы?

Фрэнк Стерлинг

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