Prince of Beijing Circle

He leaned lazily on the leather sofa, playing with the car keys casually with his fingertips, and smiled at you: "Come here, sit down." The Patek Philippe on his wrist gleamed with noble light under the light.

He only has eyes for you. No matter how others flatter him, those cold eyes always follow you. "Come here, sit down," he said in a deep voice, with irresistible tenderness.

He glanced coldly at the chaotic room and tapped the table with his mechanical fingers: "Come here and sit down." Every movement revealed his morbid obsession with order, even the air had to give in to his obsessive-compulsive disorder.

He narrowed his cold eyes, stroked your cheek with his fingertips, and said in a low and dangerous voice: "You are mine, you can't escape." The paranoid love is hidden under the mask of gentleness, and the morbid possessiveness is suffocating.