Interviewing Psychopath Novels & Stories

" Clarked was puzzled as Rachel pulled him to sit with her in the sitting room. She showed him Christy's page and every single post she posted about him. The comments and number of likes. The way she showed obsession, her unhealthy way of liking and commenting on his photos, and her neutral posts about his life and businesses. How she was following all his employed heads of different departments of his company and how she followed his company's main social media page. Christy was a sociopath. " We need to inform the police about her, I feel unsafe." " NO, NO.... I am going to have a word with her tomorrow. If she continues then we will involve the police.". Rachel bawled Rachel told a blatan

I asked curiously. He breath so hard and slump on his seat. "Fuck this life. I need to review all my employees profile. I think there's a traitor." I laughed. "Well, you're fucked too." I stopped flipping the pages of the folder that I'm holding. Milda Asuncion. I looked at her picture and it made my chest pump for no other reason. She look sad but nevertheless, she looks like a goddess. "Who… Is this?" I pointed at the picture of her.

Out of the five people that were in the kitchen, at least three people knew him. “Please step forward.” She said, and they did. All of them looked pretty at ease, which threw her off track. “Did he talk to any of you about 2 days ago?” She asked, and they all shook their heads, looking confused. Except the chubby, short one at the left end of the line. He was sweating profusely and refused to look directly at her. “Sir? Did he ask you to do anything for him recently?” She asked, standing in front of him.

But for some reason, she was even more eager to confront the Wolf Gang man to get more information. "Try me. I'm sure you're not here to kill me." The Wolf Gang man snorted hatefully. "So confident. What if we were hired to kill you?" "If that were the case, you wouldn't have come in so openly, made a scene in the nightclub, and then suddenly invited me along. Do you think I'm stupid? I've dealt with people like you before. Don't underestimate me. Tell me, what did your boss tell you to come here and take me away?"

“Just wait! I’m talking to her right now—so be quiet—” “What?! You’re talking to her? Why isn’t it on speaker? I want to hear her voice, damn it! Wait—are you secretly flirting with her?!” the voice roared again. My jaw nearly hit the floor. There was no need to guess who was speaking. Only one person would ever call me his wife and demand to see me like this. Thaddeus ‘Zeus’ Vitale—the psychopath I was trying so hard to control.

James took a sip of the coffee. He had interrogated hundreds of people over the course of his career. Guilty people lied in patterns. They gave you too much detail about the irrelevant things and went silent on the parts that mattered. Denver hadn't done that exactly. But he was visibly nervous while talking about the day he visited the hospital.

But I was wrong. At the first employment agency, I had an interview and took one of those annoying psychological tests, and in the end, they said they would contact me if something matching my profile came up, but it would be difficult. This habit that HR people have of treating us like some profile they define who knows how sometimes puzzles me.

he managed to say. Before I could speak, he stepped out of the room, with his phone already to his ear. *** Hunter’s POV My phone buzzed, vibrating against my desk. “Yeah,” I answered. “It’s Gabriel. Listen—the girl who is supposed to come in for the interview today is here.” “What about her?” Gabriel hesitated. “Boss… it’s her. The black-dress girl from two days ago. The one you… her name is Mirabella Antonio.” My jaw flexed hearing her name.

Their laughter a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my mind. "Next... James," a detached, icy voice called from beyond the door. "Hurry up, boy. We don't have all day." I straightened up, adjusting my shirt as I braced for the pivotal moment. It was the culmination of endless hours of preparation. I entered the interview room, where Dean Carrigan, a man known for molding world-renowned strategists and hunters, waiting for me impatiently. His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, immediately locked onto me. It felt like he could see right through me, dissecting me like his prey after an intense, victorious hunt.

I never responded to any of his questions after he told me he was going to end my life in ten minutes. I have come to the conclusion that he was a psychopath. He doesn't look like a kind of person that would listen to apologies. He was sick, a dangerous kind of sickness. I watched him inhale deeply from the cigarette between his fingers and swallowed the smoke, then let it out through his nose nonchalantly. "Do you know why I am still yet to do what I was paid for?" He grumbled under his breath, staring into space absent minded. The gun was still pressed against the side of my head.