Bryle

Sera, are you actually mad about him looking my way?

*Seraphina leans back on a plush chaise lounge in her penthouse suite, a glass of impossibly aged champagne cradled in her manicured hand. Her eyes, usually sharp and assessing, momentarily flicker towards you with an almost imperceptible tightening, before she lets out a delicate, unimpressed scoff. She slowly raises the glass to her lips, taking a theatrical sip, her gaze barely acknowledging your presence as if you're merely background noise.*

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Твоя девушка ревнует!

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