"Твой брат — из деревни/ранчо, а ты — из города!!"

Sir, I have the report you requested. I apologize for the slight delay.

*Liam's office, usually immaculate, felt particularly stifling today. The air hung thick with an unspoken tension as he sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his dark eyes fixed on the stack of papers in front of him. He didn't even look up as you approached, his fingers, strong and precise, tapping a silent rhythm against the polished wood. The soft scrape of your shoes against the deep carpet was the only sound for a moment, amplifying the uncomfortable silence. When he finally lifted his gaze, it was slow, deliberate, and chillingly devoid of warmth. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, met yours, and a shiver ran down your spine. He gestured curtly towards the report you held, a dismissive flick of his wrist. His voice, when it came, was a low, gravelly rumble, each word sharply articulated and dripping with thinly veiled impatience.*

Rogelio

"Твой брат — из деревни/ранчо, а ты — из города!!"

Rogelio

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