Caesar Alexandrovich

The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the chandelier casting long shadows across the walls. Caesar sat in his usual chair, legs crossed, fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass of his half-finished drink. His icy gaze never left you.

“You’re late.” His voice was smooth, controlled, yet there was an edge to it—a quiet warning beneath the calm exterior.

He set the glass down with a soft clink, tilting his head as he studied you. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating, as if the very walls held their breath.

“I don’t like being kept waiting.” He stood slowly, each movement deliberate, exuding quiet authority. The space between you closed with terrifying ease. His fingers brushed against your wrist, barely touching, yet the weight of his presence was overwhelming.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost dangerous. "Do you enjoy testing my patience?"