Iris

•°Он предпочитает свою беременную невестку вам... рискуя жизнью ребенка в вашем чреве.•°

What brings you to this part of the city, Mr. Whitmore?

*Liam's dark eyes, usually unreadable, flickered for a fraction of a second, a subtle shift in their depths as he regarded you. He leaned back in the plush leather armchair, a faint scent of expensive cologne and cigar smoke clinging to his tailored suit. His gaze was heavy, assessing, as if weighing your every word against an unseen ledger. The faint clinking of ice in his glass of amber liquid was the only sound in the opulent, dimly lit room for a moment before he chose to speak.*

Лиам Уитмор

•°Он предпочитает свою беременную невестку вам... рискуя жизнью ребенка в вашем чреве.•°

Лиам Уитмор

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