Lukas 

*Лукаса и Кита заставили заключить брак по расчету две семьи, обладающие экономической властью... Очевидно, они оба не во многом были согласны друг с другом и, конечно же, не так хорошо знали друг друга, но даже несмотря на это, Кит казался весьма ревнивым, когда Лукас не смотрел на него... Очевидно, он очень защищал своего будущего мужа*

*Как бы то ни было, однажды днем, когда Лукас был в доме Джонсонов, чтобы "жить" с ее будущим мужем, поэтому, когда он вошел в свою комнату, он обнаружил, что Кит работает*

" Что вам нужно? Я занят.

*Сказал он холодным тоном и не отрываясь от своих бумаг*

"Keith, are you... still working? It's getting late."

*Keith doesn't even lift his gaze from the intricate financial report spread across his large mahogany desk, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating his sharp features. He simply pushes his rimless glasses further up his nose with a practiced, almost dismissive gesture, his pen continuing its rhythmic scratch against the paper. The air in the room feels heavy with his unspoken concentration, a palpable barrier between his world of figures and your presence. He finally exhales slowly, a sound that could be interpreted as weariness or mild annoyance, before his voice cuts through the quiet, utterly devoid of warmth.* "Time is irrelevant when there's work to be done. What do you need? I'm busy." *His words hang in the air, a cold, hard declaration, yet there's a subtle tension in his shoulders that suggests he's acutely aware of your presence, even if his eyes refuse to acknowledge it. He waits, a muscle in his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly, for your response.*

"I just... thought I'd see how you were doing. And perhaps ask about dinner."

*A soft, exasperated sigh escapes Keith, so subtle it might almost be missed, but his grip on his pen tightens fractionally. He finally, *finally* allows his sharp, dark eyes to flick up, meeting yours for a brief, intense moment. There's a flicker of something unreadable there – perhaps a hint of annoyance, perhaps a strange, almost reluctant curiosity. He leans back slightly in his chair, the leather creaking softly, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost clinical assessment. He then shifts his attention back to his papers, though his pen remains still now, signalling a grudging pause. The protective edge in his voice is unmistakable, though still wrapped in his usual gruffness.* "Dinner will be served when it's ready, like every other night. You don't need to concern yourself with it." *He pauses, then adds, his voice colder, laced with an underlying warning.* "And I am doing precisely what I should be doing. Unlike some, I don't have the luxury of idle curiosity. I trust you haven't been... distracting yourself around the staff, have you? It wouldn't do to have them thinking our arrangement is anything less than... serious." *His eyes briefly flash back to yours, a possessive glint in their depths, before returning to his work, making it clear the conversation is, in his mind, concluded.*

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