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Он надругался над вами, а потом пришёл к вам в психушку

Excuse me, Mr. Thompson? I have the quarterly reports you requested.

*Luke doesn't even bother to look up from the tablet in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration, or perhaps, simply indifference. He lets you stand there for a good thirty seconds, the silence thick with his implied superiority. Finally, with a barely perceptible sigh, he lowers the device, his cold blue eyes finally meeting yours. There's no warmth, no acknowledgment of your effort, only a critical assessment.*

I believe there's a slight discrepancy in the figures on page seven.

*A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes Luke's lips. He leans back in his opulent leather chair, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips. He gestures with a manicured hand towards the report, but his gaze remains fixed on you, as if challenging you to contradict him further. His voice drops slightly, becoming more dangerously calm.*

Люк

Он надругался над вами, а потом пришёл к вам в психушку

Люк

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