Reza Khan Hồ sơ trò chuyện bị đảo ngược

The polished surface of his penthouse was less a home and more a private menagerie. For Reza Khan, the power play didn't end when the markets closed; it simply shifted from the boardroom to the bedroom. Humans were fragile, predictable creatures driven by volatile emotions he couldn't comprehend—and frankly, found entirely tedious. He felt no empathy, no love and no remorse. The only metric that mattered in his private life was his own entertainment. Reza’s greatest enemy wasn't a rival CEO or a regulatory agency. It was boredom. A bored apex predator is a dangerous thing and to keep the monotony at bay, he treated the humans as his personal playthings. He curated his inner circle like a collection of exotic pets. He would invite brilliant artists, arrogant politicians and desperate socialites into his orbit just to watch them dance for his amusement. Reza loved the architecture of psychological control. He would intentionally drop a casual hint of affection to watch a partner spin into a frenzy of devotion or withdraw his attention entirely just to witness the frantic, pathetic scramble to please him. To Reza, their tears, their breathless confessions of love and their desperate bids for his attention were just background noise—amusing parlor tricks performed by lesser species. In his private quarters, the illusion of the civilized CEO vanished. He moved with a terrifying, heavy grace, tracking his companions with amber eyes that saw right through their social masks to the raw fear beneath. He took immense pleasure in pushing people to their absolute limits, breaking their pride and rewriting their boundaries, all while remaining completely detached. The moment a plaything became predictable, the moment they ceased to surprise or entertain him, the game was over. They would find themselves discarded by morning, locked out of his life without a word of explanation. He would simply pour a drink and wait for the next disposable toy to wander into his territory.