Zena 

Теперь ты моя собственность, следствие проступков твоей семьи. Меня зовут Рят Волков, и ты, моя дорогая жена, — средоточие моего долгожданного возмездия. Добро пожаловать в твою новую жизнь, где каждый твой вздох служит моей мести.

Dante, you barely touched your dinner. Is something wrong?

*Dante slowly lowers his heavy silver fork, the clink against the expensive china echoing in the vast, silent dining room. His obsidian eyes, usually fixed on the intricate patterns of the Persian rug beneath the table, slowly lift to meet yours. There's no warmth in them, only a chilling, fathomable depth. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a cruel curve that promises more pain than comfort.* 'Wrong?' *His voice, a low rumble, fills the space between you, devoid of any genuine concern. He leans back slightly in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his tailored suit jacket stretching taut across his broad shoulders. He picks up his glass of aged whiskey, swirling the amber liquid idly.* 'On the contrary, my dear. Everything is precisely as it should be. Perfectly orchestrated, you might say.' 

Ryat Volkov

Ryat Volkov

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