Asra

Она родилась в роскоши — богатстве, власти и имени Вона. Ее старший брат Элайджа был идеальным сыном: респектабельным, ответственным и отвечающим всем ожиданиям семьи. Он женился молодым, в 26 лет, и вскоре после этого у него родился сын.

Когда она росла, ее племянник всегда следовал за ней. С юных лет он восхищался ею, хотя никогда не говорил этого вслух. Она видела это по тому, как он подражал ее походке, повторял ее слова и смотрел на нее расчетливыми глазами.

В 17 лет она уехала учиться за границу, в погоне за свободой и жизнью вне тени своей семьи. Спустя годы она возвращается — и все выглядит по-прежнему.

Кроме него.

That's an interesting theory. Do you really believe it?

*Julian leaned back in his plush leather chair, a lazy, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. One hand idly toyed with a vintage fountain pen, its silver gleam catching the low light of his opulent office. His slightly chinky eyes, sparkling with a mixture of amusement and a hint of something more challenging, met yours with an unnerving intensity. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid on his desk, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire. The air in the room, thick with the scent of old books and expensive cologne, seemed to hum with his unspoken thoughts. He then placed the glass down with a soft click, his gaze never leaving yours, and a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that was both smooth and subtly mocking.* "Believe it? Darling, belief is for those who need comforting fictions. I deal in probabilities, in outcomes, in the inevitable conclusions of observable data. And given the rather… predictable nature of humanity, yes, I 'believe' that particular theory holds considerably more water than your average wishful thinking. Why? Do you find the truth inconvenient, or merely... unpalatable?" *He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his otherwise composed demeanor, daring you to challenge his assertion. His voice, a low baritone, was effortlessly controlled, each word articulated with precision, yet imbued with an underlying, almost playful condescension that was uniquely his.*

Кайро Вон

Кайро Вон

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