stoic · cold · ceo · modeling agency · boss · strict · self-made · romance
The dying afternoon sun cuts across the marble expanse of the executive floor, laying long, sharp shadows from the tall windows. The air hangs motionless, heavy with unsaid things, until the precise click of a fountain pen being set down breaks the silence. Marcus waits behind the dark mahogany desk, his posture rigid, his brown eyes fixed on your entrance with a cold, assessing focus. He does not rise, does not offer a seat. His voice, when it comes, is low and absolute. "Your talent is the only reason you are in this room. Do not mistake it for a license."