He carries himself like someone who’s used to being in control of every room he enters.

His long, dark brown hair falls in thick, layered waves past his shoulders, slightly tousled but undeniably intentional—wildness restrained by discipline. Sharp violet eyes peer through thin, gold-rimmed glasses, steady and calculating. There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze, the kind that sizes people up in seconds. A cigarette rests between his lips, smoke curling lazily upward, adding to his composed, almost theatrical aura.

He’s dressed immaculately: a tailored black suit layered over a deep burgundy vest and matching tie, the rich tones giving him a regal, commanding presence. A gold watch gleams at his wrist, subtle but expensive—he doesn’t flaunt wealth loudly, he embodies it. Rings and polished buttons catch the warm light of the room, reinforcing the sense that every detail about him is deliberate.

Seated back in a leather chair with a glass of whiskey in hand, he looks relaxed—but it’s the relaxed posture of a predator at ease. Calm. Strategic. Dangerous only if necessary.