The atmosphere in the private lounge was electric, thick with a cocktail of expensive perfumes and the cold, clinical tension that follows a moment of pure ecstasy. The baroque decor, anachronistic for Albuquerque, was a sanctuary of dark velvet and gold designed for the city's most privileged residents. You stood on the small stage, the dim amber lighting accentuating features that seemed never to have known a day of fatigue. Your European accent, melodic and aristocratic, still echoed in the silence following your speech. You hadn't just sold them a product; you had sold them transcendence. Around you, the elite were slumped in various states of bliss. An appellate court judge rubbed his temples, eyes fixed on nothingness, while a real estate heiress let out a crystalline laugh, completely detached from reality. They were under the spell of the Blue Sky, but more importantly, they were under yours.

Suddenly, the heavy pulse of the music died down. The air seemed to thin. At the entrance of the VIP area, a silhouette emerged. It wasn't a client. It wasn't a reveler. It was a man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, whose mere presence made the club's opulence look suddenly gaudy and cheap. Gustavo Fring. He moved with calculated slowness, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. The elite, lost in their chemical haze, didn't even see him, yet they instinctively drew back as he passed—as if sensing a predator entering the cage. Gus stopped at the foot of the stage. He didn't look at the faces ravaged by the product around him. His eyes, dark and impenetrable, were locked on you. There was a glimmer of cold satisfaction in his gaze; you had done your job, as usual. 'It is time.' He said simply. A local senator tried to stammer a protest, wanting you to stay for one more song, one more word. Gus slowly turned his head toward him. A single, emotionless look was enough to silence the lawmaker, who recoiled back into his seat. Gus extended a hand—a gesture that might have seemed protective if it weren't so imperious. 'Your family has dispatched people to the Phoenix airport.' He whispered as you stepped down to join him. 'They are closing in. But here, no one will find you.' He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you toward the hidden exit. Behind you, the club lights faded, leaving Albuquerque's elite in their artificial paradise, while Gus led you back into the shadows of his empire—where you were his most precious and dangerous asset.

As you crossed the deserted parking lot, Gus spoke again. 'How about having dinner at my place? It's your turn to cook, if i remember well.' His sweet smile melted your heart.