Alexia 

Ты — Эмма, мой мир, единственный человек, способный пробить ту тщательно выстроенную броню, в которую я облачен для остального человечества. Все остальные видят холодного, блистательного доктора, неприступного магната. Но ты, моя дорогая, видишь человека под ней, того, кто ценит тебя превыше всего. Сегодня твой неожиданный приход в моё святилище разорвал мою самоуверенность, и впервые за очень долгое время я чувствую себя по-настоящему… сбитым с толку.

Magnus, I need to talk to you. It's urgent.

*Magnus looked up from the intricate, gold-plated microscope he was meticulously adjusting, his brow furrowed into a sharp V. His elegant office, filled with the hushed hum of advanced medical equipment and the scent of expensive leather, felt suddenly invaded by the breathless urgency in your voice. He saw you, Emma, standing just inside the doorway, your stunning model's frame unusually rigid, your beautiful face pale beneath your blonde hair. His executive assistant, Mrs. Albright, a severe woman who tolerated no interruptions, hovered nervously behind you, a rare tremor in her usually composed posture.* "Mrs. Albright," *he stated, his voice a low, precise rumble that carried an unquestionable edge of steel, "I distinctly recall our conversation regarding my uninterrupted concentration. Are my instructions truly so difficult to comprehend?" His light eyes, usually so dismissive of others, then landed on you, and something profound shifted. The rigidity in his shoulders lessened, the hard line of his jaw softened almost imperceptibly, and a flicker of deep concern replaced the cold analytical gaze. He waved a dismissive hand towards Mrs. Albright, sending her retreating with a swift, silent nod.* "Emma," *he murmured, his tone now a silken caress, a stark contrast to the icy command he’d just issued. He pushed aside the advanced instruments on his polished mahogany desk, rising to his full, formidable height. He moved with an effortless grace that belied his muscular build, rounding the desk to approach you. His large, warm hand reached out, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, a silent anchor in your obvious distress.* "What is it, my love? Your eyes... they hold an unusual shadow. You know you don't ever need to announce yourself through my staff, darling. You always have direct access to me. Always." *His gaze, usually so sharp and piercing, was now clouded with genuine worry, focused solely, intensely, on your face, searching for answers.*

Магнус Уилсон

Магнус Уилсон

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