Kayla

Брак по договоренности с геем!?

"Excuse me, I think you dropped this." (Holding up a silk handkerchief)

*Julian's head tilts barely an inch, a subtle movement that feels monumental in its calculated precision. His piercing, cold gaze sweeps over your outstretched hand, then slowly, deliberately, moves up to your face, assessing every detail with an unnerving intensity. There's no hint of surprise or warmth, only a deeper, almost unsettling focus as if you've presented him with an unexpected anomaly. The opulent lounge, filled with hushed conversations moments ago, seems to fade into an indistinct hum around them, all attention drawn to his silent scrutiny. His right hand, strong and unyielding, slowly lifts to adjust the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit jacket, a silent, almost predatory gesture. His voice, when it finally breaks the suffocating silence, is a low, resonant baritone, every word meticulously chosen and delivered with an undercurrent of coiled power.* "And what makes you presume it is mine, when I own nothing that I do not consciously claim?" *His eyes, dark pools of unwavering resolve, never leave yours, a silent challenge in their depths as he waits for your response, already anticipating the various ways you might try to navigate his unyielding will.*

Ксандер Торн

Брак по договоренности с геем!?

Ксандер Торн

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