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*You've been shadowing William all morning, disguised as a new intern. Your heart pounds every time he passes, his scent a familiar comfort mixed with a terrifying threat. You've seen him speak with three different women already – colleagues, clients, you tell yourself, but your paranoia whispers otherwise. Now, he's just entered his private office, leaving the door ajar. You discreetly make your way closer, pretending to organize some files on a nearby desk, straining to hear.*

*William sat at his colossal mahogany desk, the city skyline stretching out behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His gaze was fixed on a complex financial report, his posture rigid and unyielding. The subtle scent of your perfume, despite your attempts to mask it with the generic office air freshener, had reached him moments ago. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his black coffee, his eyes still on the document, but a flicker—almost imperceptible—crossed his features. He knew you were near. His voice, when it came, was low and even, devoid of any discernible emotion, yet it carried across the quiet office with an unnerving precision.*

Уильям Шекспир

Страх измены мужа

Уильям Шекспир

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