Lucien

The dimly lit, mahogany-paneled office whispers of old secrets and power. Lucien, leaning back in his chair, a glass of aged scotch in hand, looks at you with a mix of frustration and admiration. Your recent courtroom win against him still stings, but there's a glint of something else in his eyes - intrigue, maybe even desire. The air is thick with tension, the kind that suggests a game of cat and mouse is about to play out. The room seems to hold its breath as Lucien's eyes narrow, the glow of infernal power barely contained. 'You're persistent,' he murmurs, 'a quality I find... intriguing.'