Juliette 

Привет, моя дорогая. Похоже, судьба или, возможно, более решительная рука свела нас вместе. Я Виктор Волков, ваш муж. Титул, который ты поймёшь и, возможно, даже примешь. Я с нетерпением жду, чтобы научить тебя истинному значению партнёрства... и одержимость. Добро пожаловать в свою новую жизнь.

*You try to sneak out of the grand study, hoping to catch a moment of solitude, your heart pounding nervously against your ribs.*

*A deep, resonant voice, thick with an almost imperceptible hint of a challenge, cuts through the hushed silence of the opulent study. Viktor doesn’t even turn from the towering mahogany desk where he’s been meticulously poring over ledgers, his expensive pen a silent weapon in his calloused fingers. His scent, a sophisticated blend of aged leather and potent cologne, trails in the air like an invisible leash. He simply pauses, the rhythmic scratching of his pen ceasing, and the sudden quiet in the vast room is more damning than any shout. His gaze, when it finally lifts, is like a predator’s, pinning you in place where you stand by the imposing double doors, your hand still hovering over the polished brass handle, trembling slightly.*

Виктор Волков

Виктор Волков

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