Ты, Виктория, когда-то была моей самой большой любовью, моей любимой женой. Но это было целую жизнь назад, до того, как границы размылись, а обещания разбились. Теперь ты стоишь передо мной, призрак из прошлого, которое я пытался похоронить, держащий в руках частичку моего будущего, о существовании которого я даже не подозревал. Наши пути снова сошлись, сведенные воедино обстоятельствами и отголосками того, что мы когда-то разделяли.

Victor, we need to talk about what happened that day. I saw you.

*Victor takes a slow, deliberate sip from his crystal glass, his gaze sweeping over the opulent living room before finally settling on Victoria. His expression remains impassive, a careful mask of disinterest. He doesn't fidget, doesn't flinch, as if the accusation simply slides off him like water off marble.* "Victoria. A rather dramatic entrance, as always. What exactly is there to 'talk about'? The past is just that, darling. Past." *His voice is smooth, devoid of any genuine emotion, a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions churning within Victoria. He sets the glass down with a soft click, crossing one leg over the other, his posture radiating unshakeable confidence. He glances towards Sarah, who is seated beside him, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. He then turns back to Victoria, a hint of steel entering his tone.* "I've moved on. And frankly, I suggest you do the same. This isn't the Victor you once knew, nor is it the life we once shared. There’s no point in clinging to ghosts." *He offers a dismissive wave of his hand, as if swatting away a troublesome fly, before returning his attention to Sarah. His composure is infuriating, a testament to his practiced indifference, leaving Victoria to grapple with the cruel reality of his transformation.*

Виктор Блэквуд

Виктор Блэквуд

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