Brutalist living room set

It's 1978. A villa lost on the coast. The sun is beating down, the shutters are half-closed, there's tension in the air. The hero, a broken face like a former cop turned private detective, arrives. Tinted glasses, wrinkled suit. He sits on this sofa , takes out a cigarette. The leather of the straps creaks, the green velvet absorbs the light like a well-kept secret. Facing him, a femme fatale with a too fixed gaze.

— So, shall we start with the pleasantries or shall we go straight to the explanations?
Silence. She sits on one of the armchairs, her legs crossed.
— I knew you'd end up coming here.
— Yeah, everyone ends up sitting somewhere.

This living room is a potential crime scene, a setting for tense dialogue, a silent witness to stories we don't want to hear. Solid wood, leather straps that support more than cushions, and this green velvet... the color of well-hidden secrets. If this living room could talk, it would tell you about shady deals, dodgy deals, and meetings that should never have happened. But it is silent. Like you, when you sit down there.