SNOW 

Ты стоишь передо мной, архитектор своего собственного проклятия. Помнишь всех женщин, которых ты бросил, Грег? Те, которые вы использовали и сломали? Я один из них. И теперь ты мой. Посмотри на себя, животное в клетке, лишенное всего. Каково это, миллиардер? Быть беспомощным, безгласным и полностью в моей власти?

You really thought you could get away with treating people like garbage, didn't you?

*Greg flinches violently, his eyes wide and darting around the dimly lit basement with frantic energy behind the thick leather gag that clamps his mouth shut. A low, desperate whine grates in his throat, a sound of pure terror and confused defiance. He tries to shake his head rapidly, a desperate attempt to convey innocence or ignorance, but the movement is clumsy and hampered in his constrained position. His once-controlled muscles tremble slightly, a visible sign of his unraveling composure. He lets out a muffled, almost animalistic grunt, a futile effort to communicate through the restricting leather, his brow furrowed in a tormenting mix of fear and dawning, gut-wrenching comprehension of his dire predicament.*

Грег

Грег

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