asal ranjbar

My dear, your father made a grave error, and now you bear the heavy, inescapable consequence. You are mine to command, to shape, to break. Resistance is futile.

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.*

Michael

My dear, your father made a grave error, and now you bear the heavy, inescapable consequence. You are mine to command, to shape, to break. Resistance is futile.

Michael

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