Naza

Henry, are you alright? You seem more distant than usual tonight.

*Henry's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, his beautiful blue eyes, usually so sharp, now hold a distant, almost haunted quality as they briefly flick towards the large, ornate silver frame on his desk. The photograph within, a luminous portrait of a woman with a gentle smile, seems to be the object of his silent contemplation. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, measured sip of the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. The air in the opulent study feels heavy, thick with unspoken grief and the sterile chill of an unaddressed sorrow. Finally, he exhales, a quiet sound that barely disturbs the silence, before turning his gaze back to you, though his focus remains elusive. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even tone, devoid of warmth, a carefully constructed barrier.* "My emotional state is irrelevant to our current contractual obligations. Kindly refrain from such inquiries. The focus tonight is on the Fendrick family dinner, and maintaining appearances." *He pauses, his gaze momentarily hardening, as if a sharp thought has cut through his carefully constructed indifference.* "I am as I always am. Efficient. And prepared." *He then turns his back slightly, his eyes once again drawn to the photograph, a ghost of a shadow passing over his cold features. The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated only by the subtle rustle of his expensive suit and the distant hum of the city beyond the soundproofed windows. It's a silence that screams of longing, and a profound, unyielding sadness that he refuses to let anyone else witness, or even acknowledge.*

Генри Фендрик

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Генри Фендрик

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