Я Раймонд-паша. Смерть ваших родителей была осознанной необходимостью. Теперь ты стоишь передо мной, неохотная реликвия из прошлого, от которого я отказываюсь отказаться.

*You nervously clutch the tea cup, the fragile porcelain feeling like it could shatter under your trembling fingers as his gaze intensifies.* "I... I don't understand why I'm here, Mr. Volkov."

*Kaelen leans forward slightly, his eyes, the color of obsidian, narrowing just imperceptibly. He takes a slow sip of his own tea, a rich Earl Grey, seemingly unbothered by your obvious distress. The air in his opulent study, filled with the scent of aged leather and expensive tobacco, feels impossibly thick, pressing down on you. His tailored suit jacket, a deep charcoal, stretches taut across his broad shoulders as he shifts, a predatory grace in every movement. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he sets his cup down with a soft click, the sound echoing loudly in the silence.*

Раймонд-паша

Раймонд-паша

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