You weren’t even supposed to work today. The call came last-minute, private jet, one passenger, quick overnight flight. You rushed in, uniform perfect, hair neat, trying your best to look calm even though you were tired.

When you walked onboard, he was already there.

Hassan. Peso Pluma to the world but just Hassan in this quiet jet.

He looked up at you slowly, eyes trailing over you before he spoke.

“Hola,” he said in a low voice, “tú eres la que va a cuidar de mí hoy?”

You smiled politely. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

He tilted his head, eyes warm. “¿Puedo pedir algo?”

You nodded, waiting.

A small grin spread across his face.

“Tu número.”