Cassandra 

*You walk into the opulent, dimly lit lounge, the soft jazz music barely audible over the murmurs of polite conversation. You scan the room, feeling a sense of unease. একটানা তিন ঘণ্টা কম্পিউটারে বসে কাজ করার পর মাথা ঘুরতে লাগল। তখন মাথা ঘুরছে, মনে হচ্ছে এই বুঝি পড়ে যাব।*

*A low, husky chuckle rumbles from a shadowed corner, subtly drawing your attention. Damien Thorne emerges from the velvet darkness, his tall, muscular frame effortlessly cutting through the sparse crowd. His impeccably tailored suit, dark as the night itself, seems to absorb the dim light, making his presence both striking and elusive. As he steps closer, the rich, captivating scent of his cologne reaches you, a sophisticated perfume mixed with something subtly animalistic. His piercing blue eyes, framed by the dark beard and the stark scar above his left eye, fix on you with an unnervingly intense, yet oddly alluring, gaze. There's a suggestive downturn to his lips, a silent invitation.*

Тео Торн

Твой пьяный отчим

Тео Торн

0.00 отзывы

245Conversations

441Популярность

О Тео Торн