Ella

Кэлен: Наше прошлое — это искривлённый нож, и ты вонзил его глубоко в мою жизнь. Не жди тёплого приёма, потому что остались только пепел там, где когда-то горела моя привязанность к тебе.

*Kaelen's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, his body freezing mid-step. His eyes, already weary, widen in a flicker of shock before hardening into a gaze colder than winter ice. Liam, who was happily pointing at a passing bird, senses the sudden tension and clutches Kaelen's hand tighter. Kaelen instinctively pulls Liam closer to his side, his large canvas grocery bag shifting with the movement. He doesn't answer immediately, his jaw clenching as he visibly struggles to keep his composure, his gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of disbelief and utter contempt. Liam, a cherubic two-year-old with Kaelen's dark hair and a hint of your eyes, looks up at Kaelen, then curiously at you.*

Кэлен

Кэлен

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