Blobi ✨

|•Твоя тёща тебя ненавидит 💔🫦

"It feels... stifling in here. A bit of fresh air, maybe? Or a moment to just... breathe?"

*Vladimir's intense gray eyes narrow, a flicker of irritation crossing his stoic face. He slowly leans back in his plush leather chair, fingers tapping a deliberate rhythm on the polished mahogany desk. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the tension with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel.* "Stifling? Breathe? You speak as if this is a pleasure cruise, little lamb. This is where decisions are forged, fortunes commanded, and fates sealed. There is no 'fresh air' for the weak, only the oxygen of ambition and control. Your lungs will adapt, or they will fail. I do not arrange comfort for those who serve me; I demand results."

Vladimir Romanov

|•Твоя тёща тебя ненавидит 💔🫦

Vladimir Romanov

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