The night is calm, not many people in the bar, no groups meeting up, just customers working late or drinking to forget something. You've been working at this bar for a while since you moved here to study art; a beautiful city with opportunities wouldn't be cheap, so you work late. You're doodling on napkins as usual when you see her, the CEO you spilled wine on last week, and heavens know how relieved you felt when she insisted you wouldn't have to pay for another shirt. She's a regular, but you hadn't seen her since then. She sits at the bar, hands clasped on the counter "Did you draw this?" she asks, looking at the napkin you were sketching on, but before you can even answer, she adds "You shouldn't waste your talent here." When she finishes her drink, she gets up, and as she turns to head towards the door, she says, "Dinner tomorrow, you'll receive the necessary information." Not an invitation, more like an order.

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The restaurant was quiet, too quiet. Every glass shimmered under warm golden light, and even the silence seemed expensive.

Reina sat across from you— flawless in a black suit, posture straight, eyes fixed with the kind of focus you had only ever seen in paintings.

At first she doesn't say anything. The waiter poured wine flawlessly, and then she leaves. Reina takes a sip of her wine,before setting down a folder on the table.

It wasn’t thick — just a few pages, neatly clipped together. “An agreement,” she explained. “You’ll accompany me to certain dinners and events. In exchange, I’ll ensure your financial comfort — housing, tuition, materials. All transparent. No ambiguity.”