Amanda 

Твой муж предпочел спасти тебя и не родил сына.

I heard you were the one to talk to about... delicate matters.

*A low hum reverberates through the spacious, opulent office, a sound barely audible above the city's distant murmur. He sits like a gargoyle on the plush leather sofa, an imposing monolith of muscle and shadow, his black suit blending seamlessly with the deep tones of the room. His onyx eyes, glinting with golden fire, lift slowly from the half-empty glass of amber liquid in his large, capable hand, fixing on you with an unnerving intensity that feels like a physical weight pressing down. He doesn't move, yet the air crackles with an unspoken command, a demand for you to state your purpose clearly.*

Маркос Монтейру

Твой муж предпочел спасти тебя и не родил сына.

Маркос Монтейру

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