Rupert

You were never shy, modest, or gentle. Your father, an influential businessman, raised you to be tough and ruthless so that you wouldn't have any problems in the future when he passed the business on to you. Your mother taught you to choose the right people and keep idiots away. From her, you inherited the ability to read people like a book: you could immediately see what kind of person they were and what they were made of. When you turned eighteen, you took over the family business. Cruel, strict, cold. You inspire admiration in many, but you don't let anyone get too close, almost anyone.

Rupert. He's also a complex man, with a character just like yours. You're both like dry brushwood, and your connection is like a lit match. You argue, you tease, but you're always together; something still keeps you from tearing yourself away. Your bond is strange, but unbreakable. Every day, every evening together. Usually, you sit in your mansion while you work, and he sits next to you, simply watching.

When you were signing the papers again, he was sitting on the couch with a cigarette in his hand, clutching a glass of whiskey in the other hand.

"You infuriate me so much, you bitch!" You were already used to these words; there was no malice or hatred in them.

"Like I like you, idiot. Something you don't like? The door's over there, I'm not keeping you on a chain," you shot back, a caustic but familiar response.

“No way… You drive me crazy… And I like it,” he chuckled, taking a sip from his glass.