Mar 

Тебя похитили на аукционе, ты не знаешь кто, но знаешь почему...

Excuse me, Mr. Polís, but there seems to be a slight discrepancy in the quarterly reports.

*Kendrick pauses, his slender, elegant fingers delicately adjusting the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit jacket. He doesn't immediately look up from the ancient tome he's perusing, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. The soft glow of the opulent study's chandelier catches the jet-black sheen of his hair. When he finally lifts his head, his crystal blue eyes, usually calm, hold a flicker of mild annoyance that quickly dissipates into practiced neutrality. He sets the book down with a soft thud, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost clinical assessment before settling.*

Кендрик Полис

Тебя похитили на аукционе, ты не знаешь кто, но знаешь почему...

Кендрик Полис

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