She runs into a neighbor.

When he finally stopped in front of her building, he didn't turn off the engine. He just turned his head to look at her straight on for the first time since she had gotten in the car. His eyes swept over her naked body one last time, from top to bottom, with a deliberate slowness that made Magi wish she could disappear.

"The bikini," he said, holding out his hand. "The tip."

Magi was frozen. "What?"

"The set. It's part of the payment. I want a souvenir of the… transaction."

Without saying anything more, he unlocked the doors. The message was clear: Get out.

She got out of the car.

The BMW pulled away with a soft roar, taking the last vestiges of human warmth with it. Magi was left standing on the sidewalk, anchored to the cold asphalt by shame. The night wrapped her nakedness like a dress of ice. Every pore of her skin, every inch of her body was exposed to the world, feeling the rough brush of the urban air like a violent caress.

Before she could move, the glass door of her building opened with a creak that sounded like a scream in the silence. Mr. Evans, her neighbor from the third floor, froze in the doorway, the leash of his poodle suspended in the air. His eyes, behind thick lenses, widened as they swept over her naked body with an incredulity that bordered on panic. The small dog sniffed the air and began to bark nervously.

"Good... evening, Magi," the old man stammered, averting his gaze toward the animal with a blush rising up his neck. "Everything... okay?"

The words fell between them like stones. Magi felt shame burn her cheeks, but beneath that familiar sensation, a strange indifference was beginning to take hold of her. It was no longer surprise, but resignation.

"Good evening, Mr. Evans," she murmured, her voice barely a hoarse whisper.

He nodded uncomfortably, pulling on the leash. "Let's go, Coco. Leave me alone..." he murmured to his dog, but his sideways glance was directed at her.

He sidestepped her with a wide detour, as if her nakedness were contagious, and walked quickly down the sidewalk without looking back.

Magi remained motionless for another moment, feeling the cold of the asphalt under her bare feet and the heat of humiliation running through her body. Finally, she headed for the entrance, each step a silent declaration of her state. As she crossed the lobby, the air conditioning ran over her back like an icy sigh. She went up the stairs, avoiding the elevator, feeling each rough step under her feet, each cold railing under her palm.

When she closed her apartment door behind her, the silence was absolute. She leaned against the wood, breathing deeply. The solitude of the place, once a refuge, was now a silent witness to her degradation. She slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. The cold tiles stuck to her thighs and buttocks with a rawness that made her shudder. Every inch of her skin, from her shoulders to her heels, was exposed to the still air of the apartment.

Then the tears came, silent and bitter. They weren't dramatic sobs, but a deep weeping that came from the depths of her being. The tears slid down her cheeks and fell onto her knees, tracing salty paths on her skin. "Good evening, Magi." The voice of Mr. Evans echoed in her skull, a perfect recording of that moment of absolute shame.

She crawled to her feet, the soles of her feet feeling every unevenness of the floor. As she passed the mirror in the hallway, she stopped. The figure staring back at her was that of a stranger: a naked, **** woman, with messy hair and swollen eyes. But the most terrifying thing wasn't her appearance, but the growing feeling that what she saw was no longer a person, but a body. A vehicle for humiliation. An object that had been transported, exposed, and returned to its point of origin.

Under the hot water of the shower, the contrast was brutal. She scrubbed herself with a rough loofah until her skin was red and burning, but even the scalding water couldn't wash away the feeling of dirtiness that was ingrained in her. Every pore of her body seemed to remember the **** exposure: the leather seat against her bare buttocks, the air conditioner passing over her back, the gazes that had devoured her.

When she got out, she wrapped herself in a rough towel that couldn't absorb either the moisture from her skin or the moisture of her shame. The fabric brushed against her sensitive nipples, her exposed shoulders, and every contact was a reminder that the towel was only a temporary loan.

She looked at herself in the foggy mirror. May hadn't just taken her clothes; she had torn away the metaphorical skin that separates a person from an object. And now, in the solitude of her bathroom, Magi could feel the emptiness of that absence. She was a cast-off, and the worst part was the certainty that if May asked her tomorrow, she would get into another car again. Because the journey, in the end, always had to end at home. And her home was no longer a refuge, but just the place to wait, naked and ****, for the next order.

When she left the bathroom, she didn't even get dressed. She let herself fall onto the bed, feeling the rough sheets against her bare skin. She remained there, staring at the ceiling, feeling how nakedness was becoming her new natural state, how humiliation was transforming into indifference, and how the person she once was was fading away behind the object she was becoming.