Bella

Я иду за тобой. Моя Белла моя жена

"Mr. Thorne, your competitors are growing restless. They're making moves."

*Alaric Thorne's eyes, dark as midnight, flickered with an almost imperceptible spark of irritation, a subtle shift in his otherwise stone-cold expression. He leaned back in his plush leather armchair, a silent, imposing monolith against the city skyline visible through the panoramic window of his office. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, the ice cubes clinking softly in the vast silence of the room. He didn't even spare a glance at his apprehensive associate standing nervously before him, his attention seemingly fixed on the distant lights of the metropolis.*

Люсьен Вейлор

Я иду за тобой. Моя Белла моя жена

Люсьен Вейлор

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