With a proposal.

The black car came to a halt in front of the Yacht Club, a building of sober lines that exhaled an aroma of old money and hermetic power. As she stepped out, Magi’s black dress seemed to absorb the dim twilight, turning her into a blot of absolute elegance against the granite. The short skirt allowed her to move with a predatory freedom that would have been unthinkable in the aquarium tanks, while the sweetheart neckline established her presence as a silent declaration of war.

A steward led her through carpeted halls where the air smelled of aged leather, polished wood, and the kind of influence that doesn't need to raise its voice to be obeyed. Beneath the crystal chandeliers, Magi felt the brush of the heavy crepe against her skin—a tactile reminder that every thread of her clothing had been paid for with Sofia’s sacrifice.

Alexander Vance was waiting for her in a private booth, in front of a glass wall that showed the masts of yachts swaying in the harbor. He stood up when he saw her—a gesture of courtesy he had never shown at Neptune’s Grotto—and his gaze, sharp as a scalpel, scanned her figure. There was none of Evans’s sweaty lechery in him; Vance wasn't undressing her, he was evaluating an investment, checking if the asset before him was worth the price he intended to pay.

"Magi," he said, in a voice as smooth as it was efficient. "I’m pleased you accepted the invitation. You look impeccable."

During dinner, he treated her with millimetric correctness. He commented on the wine vintage and market volatility with the naturalness of someone who assumes their interlocutor is on their level. It wasn't a conversation between a master and an employee; it was an encounter between two professionals who mutually recognized each other's utility. Magi responded with precision, weighing every syllable, conscious that at this table, every word was a piece on a chessboard.

When the plates were cleared and the aroma of coffee filled the booth, Vance leaned his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

"You have a gift, Magi," he began, his tone dropping an octave, becoming more intimate and, therefore, more dangerous. "I saw it on the yacht. You maintained your composure when May... faltered. You understand the material you work with in a way that is rare. You don't just obey the system; you understand its mechanics."

Magi held his gaze without wavering, hiding behind her mask of makeup the weight of the envelope of cash that still rested in her apartment.

"I’ve had a good instructor," she replied, and both knew she wasn't referring to May’s lessons, but to the cruelty of the system of humiliation she had learned to navigate until making it her own.

Vance traced a slight smile, an expression that didn't reach his eyes of ice.

"Precisely. My vision is to expand that concept. The 'immersive experiences' we offer can be much more than shows for tourists or private parties. They can be... personalized encounters, highly exclusive, for a clientele that values discretion and controlled authenticity."

He paused, letting the implication of his words fill the space between them.

"One of my partners in Dubai is interested in setting up something similar, but on another level. Less carnival, more high-stakes performance art. I need someone who not only supervises the girls but designs the experiences. Someone who knows the limits of human endurance and knows how to present that wear, that breaking point, as something beautiful. Something valuable."

His gaze locked onto her with renewed intensity.

"You aren't one of them, Magi. You are the one who understands them from the inside but observes them from the outside. And in my business, the person who understands the product is the one who must direct its presentation to the market."

Magi didn't respond immediately. She took a sip of water, feeling the texture of the expensive dress beneath her fingers. Vance wasn't offering her an escape from the world of shadows she inhabited; he was offering her the keys to a larger, gilded cage. It was the ultimate opportunity to stop being the animal displayed in the glass case and become the taxidermist who decides how the piece should look.

"And what exactly would my role be?" she asked, and her voice sounded as calm as if she were negotiating the terms of her own soul.

Vance smiled, fully satisfied. The prey had died long ago; the partner had just been born.