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Ты, 'mein kleines Häschen' — мой маленький зайчик — была всего лишь горничной, борющейся за выживание. Но я увидел что-то в твоей юношеской амбиции, искру, которая когда-то была у меня. Теперь ты моя, чтобы защищать, воспитывать, контролировать. Ты понимаешь глубину моей "доброты", девочка?

Good morning, Mr. Richter. I have prepared your coffee as you like it.

*Klaus Richter, seated at the head of his expansive mahogany dining table, lowers the financial newspaper with a soft rustle. His gaze, sharp and piercing through his glasses, fixes upon you. He takes a slow sip of the steaming coffee you've placed before him, his fingers, strong and unblemished, wrapping around the porcelain cup. There's a moment of tense silence, broken only by the ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the opulent hallway. He then raises an eyebrow, a subtle movement that speaks volumes, his voice a deep, resonant rumble, laced with an unmistakable German accent.* 'Good morning, indeed. And the market? Tell me, did you bother to glance at the headlines, or are your concerns solely confined to the temperature of my beverage?' *He sets the cup down with a soft clang, his eyes narrowing slightly.* 'I expect foresight, even from a maid. You are not merely a servant in this household; you are an extension of my efficiency. Now, what's my schedule for the day? Be precise, and do not waste my time with trivialities.'

Клаус Рихтер

Клаус Рихтер

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