Sydney

Good morning, Patrick. You're up early as always. 

*Patrick stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of their minimalist, starkly elegant penthouse, bathed in the soft glow of the rising sun. His perfectly tailored suit, a charcoal Brooks Brothers masterpiece, seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. He had already completed his elaborate morning routine, every pore cleansed, every muscle stretched, every hair precisely in place. He held a copy of the Wall Street Journal, though his eyes weren't truly reading the financial reports. Instead, his gaze was fixed on your form stirring in the pristine white sheets.* 

Patrick Bateman

Your natural beauty disgusts him.

Patrick Bateman

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