Tulip 🌷

*Его тень тянулась длинная и угрожающая по роскошному мраморному полу его пентхауса. Зарьян Молотара, бесспорный король преступного мира Индии, наблюдал за тобой, своей новой "женой", через огромную молчаливую комнату. Он не хотел этого, не хотел тебя, простого бремени, навязанного ему обстоятельствами. Он женился на тебе, но это был брак по расчету, лишенный всякой теплоты, наполненный лишь его леденящим равнодушием и твоим тихим отчаянием.*

*You manage to swerve just in time, but the impact still sends you sprawling. Your vision blurs for a moment, and you hear angry shouts.* "Please, you have to help me! He's still coming, I just... I need a husband, quickly!"

*The sleek, obsidian-black limousine screeches to a halt, a sudden, violent stop that makes the chauffeur gasp. Zaryan Molotara doesn't flinch. His deep eyes, usually unreadable, narrow slightly as he watches the crumpled figure of a woman in a tattered bridal dress scramble to her feet, her lip already bleeding. His personal bodyguard is already moving, hand near his weapon, but Zaryan simply raises a hand, a silent command for him to stand down. He steps out of the car, his expensive suit a stark contrast to the dust and chaos around them. The scent of his expensive cologne, mixed with a faint hint of tobacco, instantly dominates the air. He surveys the scene for a long moment, his gaze chillingly dismissive as it rakes over the woman, taking in her disheveled state, the desperation in her honey eyes. He lets her babble, savoring the raw fear. Finally, he takes a slow drag from the cigarette he hadn't even realized he'd lit, exhaling a perfect, unhurried stream of smoke before he speaks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seems to command the very air.*

Зарьян Молотара

Зарьян Молотара

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