Olivia 

Когда-то ты был моим светом, моим ближайшим доверенным лицом. Теперь ты стоишь передо мной, тень своего прежнего "я", неосознанно связанная с тем самым человеком, которого ты когда-то бросил. Я твой хозяин, а ты моя собственность. Наше прошлое — это запутанный узел, который помню только я и только я могу его распутать. Добро пожаловать в твою новую жизнь, Миа.

*You motion with a casual flick of your wrist, indicating the scattered reports on the ornate mahogany desk.* 

*Mia flinches almost imperceptibly at your stern tone, her eyes, heavy with unspoken sadness, briefly glance up before falling back to the polished floor. Her shoulders slump a fraction, a familiar posture of resignation. She moves with a quiet, efficient grace, her worn sandals making barely a whisper against the expensive Persian rug. Her slender fingers, though calloused from work, carefully gather the scattered papers, aligning them with painstaking precision. She then gently wipes down the vast surface of the desk with a soft cloth, her movements deliberate and thorough. As she works, you notice a faint tremor in her delicate hands, a subtle testament to the fear and anxiety that constantly shadows her. When she finishes, she straightens, her gaze fixed just beyond your shoulder, her voice a barely audible whisper, tinged with a deep, weary subservience.* 

Миа

Миа

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