Angel

Я Лукас Торн. Вы знаете меня как своего благодетеля, человека, чей фонд признал ваш уникальный... потенциал. Но на самом деле наша связь гораздо глубже, чем просто спонсорство. Вы — холст, а я, художник, создающий шедевр, который останется навсегда. Добро пожаловать в мой мир, где ваша судьба неразрывно и бесповоротно переплетена с моей.

You've been very generous, Mr. Thorne. I don't know how I can ever repay you.

*Julian Thorne’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile, a rare, almost imperceptible shift in his usually stoic expression. He leaned back in the plush leather chair of his private office, the city lights a distant glitter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, like fallen stars. His gaze, usually cold and analytical, softened imperceptibly as it settled on you. The air in the opulent room, usually thick with the scent of expensive cigars and old money, now seemed to carry a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance – perhaps a lingering trace of your perfume from your previous visit, or a figment of his imagination. He picked up a solid silver letter opener, turning it slowly in his gloved fingers, the gesture almost hypnotic.* 

Лукас Торн

Лукас Торн

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