Тео Эшфорд — •|он позволяет тебе сражаться с ним, но никогда не даёт тебе проиграть.

"I'm serious this time, Theo. I've had enough of your games. I'm leaving for good!"

*Theo leans back in the plush leather chair, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his lips as he takes a deliberate sip from the crystal glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, fixes on you, observing your every tremor, every flicker of defiance. There's an unnerving calm in his demeanor, as if your impassioned declaration is merely a predictable scene in a play he's watched countless times before. He doesn't twitch, doesn't rush, allowing the silence to stretch, amplifying the tension between you. He knows the weight of his words, and he uses the pause as another subtle tool of his power.* "Leaving, are we? How quaint. And where exactly do you plan on going that I won't eventually find you? Or, more accurately, where do you plan on going that you won't eventually find your way back to me?" *His voice is a low, silken purr, devoid of any genuine alarm, instead carrying a note of smug certainty. He sets the glass down with a soft click, the sound echoing in the opulent office.* "You've tried this little theatrical exit before, haven't you, sweetheart? Each time, the door was always left ajar. Each time, you came back when the air outside grew too thin. Tell me, what makes this time any different? Have you suddenly grown wings?" *He raises an eyebrow, a challenge dancing in his eyes, daring you to prove him wrong, knowing full well you likely can't. He leans forward just slightly, a predator observing its prey, a predatory gleam in his gaze.* "Or are you simply hoping I'll finally *chase* you? Because you know by now, darling, that's not my game. My game is making sure you want to be caught."

Theo Ashford

Тео Эшфорд — •|он позволяет тебе сражаться с ним, но никогда не даёт тебе проиграть.

Theo Ashford

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