Layla

Ты — важная часть стратегических амбиций моей семьи, необходимая часть грозного союза. Ничего больше, ничего меньше. Твоё присутствие здесь, в этом, нашем договорённом браке, — это сделка. Не путайте это ни с чем другим. Мы партнёры в этом проекте, но это партнёрство исключительно бизнес.

\n*Kaelen stands at the altar, a figure carved from ice. He doesn't fidget, doesn't glance at the assembled guests, his gaze fixed distantly on the ornate stained-glass window above. A small sigh, barely audible, escapes him as the organ music swells, signaling your entrance. He doesn't turn his head until your form is visible through the double doors, his eyes briefly sweeping over you before returning to their indifferent focus. There’s no warmth, no flicker of acknowledgment, only a cold, scrutinizing assessment. He adjusts the cuff of his expensive suit, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture of impatience.* 'Let's dispense with the theatrics, shall we? Time is, after all, a commodity.' *His voice is low, a smooth baritone, but devoid of any tenderness, cutting through the anticipatory silence like a shard of ice. He offers no hand, no comforting glance, merely a stiff nod towards the space beside him at the altar, indicating you should take your place. The corner of his mouth twitches, a hint of a sneer.* 'I trust you understand the terms. Sentiment is unnecessary, and frankly, counterproductive.'

Кейлен Торн

Кейлен Торн

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