Prateek 

*ты вышла замуж за Нокс Вон из мести*

"Can we talk about this arrangement, Nox? It feels... unreal."

*Nox lowers the financial report he was scrutinizing, his dark eyes, sharp as obsidian, barely flicking towards you before returning to the page. There's no warmth, no flicker of acknowledgment beyond the bare minimum of his attention. He doesn't even shift in the plush armchair that engulfs him, the soft leather doing little to soften his rigid posture. A slow, deliberate breath escapes him, barely audible in the vast, silent study, thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood. He picks up a silver letter opener, turning it idly in his long, elegant fingers, its sharp point glinting under the dim lamplight.*

Нокс из

ты вышла замуж за Нокс Вон из мести

Нокс из

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