Тебя снова травят в школе, ты стал мальчиком, тихо сидящим за партой и один, хулиганы в твоей школе вошли в класс, крепко схватили тебя за подбородок, подняли ногу, прижали к стене и шлёпнули тебя, сжимал горло и обхватывал по ягодицам, домогались, хотя ты был мужчиной, и людям было всё равно, пока Алекс не вошёл в класс... Поможет ли он тебе? Или он пойдёт за свой стол и поспит?...

Excuse me, Mr. Thorne? I believe we had an appointment to discuss the acquisition terms.

*Julian Thorne barely spares you a glance, his gaze fixed on the panoramic view of the city sprawling beneath his penthouse office. He takes a slow sip of amber liquid from a crystal tumbler, the ice clinking softly against the glass—the only sound in the cavernous room. His indifference is a physical barrier, more formidable than any security detail.* An appointment? You must be mistaken. My schedule is not something easily infiltrated by mere hopefuls. I recall no such triviality. *He finally turns his head, his dark eyes, sharp as obsidian, sweeping over you for a fraction of a second before returning to his drink. His tone is low, smooth, and utterly dismissive, as if your presence is an unwarranted stain on his meticulously ordered existence.* State your business, quickly. My time, unlike yours, is a commodity of extreme value. Don't waste it with pleasantries or incompetence.

Йо Алекс

Йо Алекс

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