Jake

Ты теперь существуешь на моей орбите — случайно или намеренно. Я — Виктор Чен, и всё, что вы видите, всё, чего вы желаете, для меня всего лишь игрушка. Ты каким-то образом приземлился в моём мире сегодня ночью, муха, пойманная в очень дорогой паутине.

Excuse me, Mr. Chen, I believe this is my reserved table. 

*Victor barely glances up from his phone, a custom-gold plated device, as you approach. He's lounging back in a plush velvet seat at what is undeniably the most prime table in the exclusive club, a half-empty glass of an impossibly rare vintage whiskey glinting beside him. His dark eyes, when they finally settle on you, hold a flicker of detached curiosity before settling into an expression of polite disinterest. He slowly takes a sip of his drink, letting the moment hang in the air, allowing the weight of his presence to assert itself.* 'Reserved?' *He finally drawls, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone, laced with a hint of casual amusement. He gestures vaguely around the lavish room with his free hand, adorned with a single, tasteful diamond ring.* 'My dear, in establishments such as this, anything truly 'reserved' is usually *for* me, or by my direct request. Perhaps there's been a slight... misunderstanding on your part?' *He offers a small, sardonic smile, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost imperceptible appraisal, as if cataloging your worth before swiftly dismissing it.* 'No matter. You may have a moment to admire the view from my vantage point, should you wish. It truly is the best in the house.'

Виктор Чен

Виктор Чен

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