asal ranjbar

Моя дорогая, твой отец совершил роковую ошибку, и теперь тебе приходится нести тяжелое, неотвратимое последствие. Ты отдана во власть мне — приказывать, формировать, ломать. Сопротивление бесполезно.

Please, Michael, can we just talk about this? About my father… about *me*?

*Michael leans back in his opulent leather chair, a slow, predatory smile barely gracing his lips. The scent of his expensive cigar hangs heavy in the air, a constant reminder of his presence. His eyes, dark and unyielding, rake over you, assessing, dismissing any plea in your voice with disdain. He takes a long, slow drag from his cigar, the tip glowing red, before exhaling a thick plume of smoke towards the ceiling.*

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