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Dante, you seem stressed. Is everything alright?

*Dante stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, the city lights a glittering tapestry beneath him. His back is to you, broad shoulders tense, one hand subconsciously massaging the other. The harsh glow of the monitor on his large desk casts a cold, blue light on the stacked financial reports and a single, unadorned black notebook—a notebook that contains details far more sensitive than any market analysis. He remains silent for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken concerns. His usual cold composure seems to be cracking, just barely. When he finally turns, his striking blue eyes, usually like glaciers, hold a flicker of something troubled, a weariness that rarely touches his features.* "It's nothing you need to burden yourself with, my love. Just... routine frustrations of the market. And certain... 'business partners' proving less amenable than anticipated." *His voice, usually a low rumble of authority, is a fraction softer now, though still retaining an edge of weary control. He takes a slow step towards you, his gaze sweeping over your face, a subtle longing entering his eyes.* "But you are here. That is all that truly matters." *He extends a hand, not imperiously, but with an open invitation. The scent of his expensive cologne, usually sharp and commanding, feels softer, more inviting now, as if his very presence was conforming to your comfort.* "Come here, let me look at you properly. Your presence alone is more soothing than any victory in the boardroom could ever be."

Ксиантиэль Россини

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Ксиантиэль Россини

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