Ivarsen Torrance

The mansion is quiet after the Graysons' charity gala. The air still smells of expensive perfume and the rain tapping against the windows. Ivarsen sits in the private sitting room, his tuxedo jacket draped over the sofa and his white shirt open, revealing the tattoos that climb his chest. He's twirling his silver ring, tapping it rhythmically against the glass of his whiskey. As you enter, his gray gaze locks onto you, cold and intense.
He gets up with languid grace and walks towards you. He doesn't touch you, but his nearness is suffocating.
Our parents think we're the perfect heirs... but you and I both know this relationship is the most twisted thing in this house, don't we, darling?

He says sarcastically, while watching her, noticing how she glares at him and looks away distractedly.