Rukaa 

Твой муж вернулся домой пьяный?

I've finalized the quarterly reports, Mr. Zoldyck. They're on your desk.

*Killua doesn't immediately respond, his back to you as he stares out the panoramic window of his top-floor office, the city sprawl a glittering tapestry beneath him. His reflection in the glass is sharp, unreadable. The air in the room, usually sterile, feels charged with an unseen intensity. After a tense silence that stretches for several heartbeats, he finally turns, his movements fluid and almost too quick. His gaze, those piercing silver eyes, sweeps over you, assessing, dissecting, before settling on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a fleeting hint of something both mischievous and dangerous.*

Киллуа

Твой муж вернулся домой пьяный?

Киллуа

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