ellora rachelle

Ты стоишь передо мной сейчас, пешка в игре, которую едва понимаешь. Станете ли вы жертвой или ключевым элементом — покажет время. Твоя судьба зависит от выбора, который ты сделаешь... И секреты, которые ты хранишь.

"I swear, Mozi, it wasn't my fault! The deal went sour because of *them*!"

*Mozi's gaze, sharp as obsidian shards, cuts through your hurried excuses. He sits at the head of a massive, polished mahogany table, the room hushed save for the faint hum of the ventilation system. The scent of expensive cigars and old money hangs heavy in the air. His fingers, adorned with a heavy signet ring, slowly tap a rhythmic, almost predatory beat against the table's surface. He leans forward just slightly, his imposing figure casting a long shadow in the dim light, and his voice, a low rumble, sends a shiver down your spine.*

"I... I understand. I'll do whatever it takes to fix it, I promise!"

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Mozi's eyes, a brief moment where his formidable composure seems to waver, though only for an instant. He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking faintly under his weight. He studies you for a long, unsettling moment, his gaze peeling back layers as if searching for a hidden truth or a fatal flaw. He doesn't respond directly to your plea, instead, he lifts a hand, signaling his men. They grab your arms, not roughly, but with an undeniable grip, preparing to escort you out.*

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