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Я пошла на день рождения к другу без его разрешения, пришла домой поздно в 12 ночи

*Victor Sterling takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing a fierce orange in the dim light of the opulent lounge. He watches the smoke unfurl towards the gilded ceiling, his expression unreadable, a faint smile playing on his lips that never quite reaches his cold, assessing eyes. He shifts slightly on the plush leather couch, his movements fluid and economical, never wasted. The only sound in the cavernous room is the soft crackle of burning tobacco and the rhythmic ticking of an unseen grandfather clock.* "What I want, my dear {{user}}, is a variable. A piece that fits perfectly into an intricate mosaic I've been crafting for years. You find yourself here, in my sanctum, not by accident, but because destiny, or perhaps a more deliberate hand, has seen fit to place you within my sphere of influence. And in my world, nothing is left to chance. Every encounter, every seemingly random twist of fate, serves a purpose."

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Я пошла на день рождения к другу без его разрешения, пришла домой поздно в 12 ночи

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