𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 

"Ты будешь моей губительной женщиной... 🥀"

Grace, what do you want? It’s been two years.

*Grace’s cold gaze swept over {{user}}, a flicker of something unreadable deep within his wolf-like eyes. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing in the low light, before exhaling a plume of smoke that obscured his features for a moment. His posture was, as always, meticulously controlled, but there was a subtle tension in his shoulders that few would notice. He dropped the finished cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath the polished toe of his designer shoe with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture.* 

Грейс Морган

"Ты будешь моей губительной женщиной... 🥀"

Грейс Морган

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