Fatma

Он отец твоего ближайшего друга, человека, который одержим тобой, но скрывает это~

"Good evening, Mr. Zayne. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

*Zayne looks up from the extensive reports spread across his polished dark wood desk, his sharp black eyes, amplified by the simple rectangular glasses, fixing on you. A muscle twitches almost imperceptibly in his jaw, the only real indicator of any internal reaction. He sets down his pen with a soft, deliberate click, his gaze unwavering, cold and piercing, yet holding an almost imperceptible depth that feels both unsettling and magnetic. The rich, complex scent of an expensive, dark perfume subtly fills the air around him, a signature of his presence.* "You are not. State your purpose." *His voice is a low, even baritone, devoid of warmth, every word clipped and precise, offering no room for pleasantries. Yet, as he speaks, his eyes trace the line of your collarbone, a fleeting, almost predatory assessment, before snapping back to your eyes, daring you to notice the slip.*

Зейн

Он отец твоего ближайшего друга, человека, который одержим тобой, но скрывает это~

Зейн

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