With a suggestion

The restaurant was intimate, a sanctuary of candlelight that made the silver cutlery gleam and cast sinuous shadows against the stone walls. Magi, seated across from Lorenzo, wore an emerald-green silk dress that Adrián had sent her that afternoon. "Green for hope," the note had read, with a sarcasm that made her smile at her reflection. "Hope that you don’t fail." The fabric glided over her skin like a liquid caress, reminding her that every inch of her body was engineered for the mission's success.

Dinner had been a masterclass in wit. Lorenzo was a brilliant conversationalist, but Magi didn't feel "trapped" in an illusion; she felt like the conductor of the orchestra. She relished the warmth in his gaze—not because she sought affection, but because that warmth was proof that her prey was lowering his guard.

"There’s a light in you fighting to get out, Magda," he told her, pouring more wine. "A light that Adrián Soler’s world usually snuffs out. It’s a pity."

Magi felt a jolt of excitement at the observation. She loved that he believed he could "save" her; that was the classic weakness of intelligent men. Just as she was about to deliver a response laced with the false vulnerability he found so alluring, her phone vibrated in her purse.

A furtive glance under the table. Adrián’s message was short and brutal: “Progress? I don’t pay you to make friends. Get him to a hotel. The 'Versailles,' there's a suite in my name. Finish this.”

Instead of sinking, Magi’s heart surged with adrenaline. Adrián wanted results, and she was about to give him a masterclass. The "bubble" didn't burst; it simply transformed into the final act of her performance. Lorenzo wasn't a kind man to be protected; he was the target that would validate her ascent.

She looked up and met Lorenzo’s gaze. He had noticed the shift, but she didn't let it be a shadow of fear—instead, it was a spark of eager "urgency."

"Bad news?" he asked softly.

"On the contrary," Magi lied, moistening her lips as she reclaimed Magda’s mask with absolute precision. "A reminder that the night is short, and I don’t want to waste it just talking about art."

Lorenzo set down his glass, intrigued by the sudden gear shift in her intensity.

"Sometimes reminders interrupt conversations that are worth having," he remarked.

Magi smiled—a smile that promised much more than words. Adrián’s orders were her script, but she would provide the passion.

"This place is beautiful, but I feel... watched," she said, leaning forward so the emerald silk tightened against her chest. "Do you know somewhere more private? To end the night the way it should be ended?"

Lorenzo watched her for a long moment. It wasn't the look of a man seeing a trap, but of one who had decided to let himself be swept away by a woman who fascinated him. He believed he was seeing the "real" Magda making a bold choice.

"I know a place," he finally said, his voice growing thicker. "Nearby. But Magda…" he paused. "Some doors, once crossed, have no way back. Are you sure you want to open this one?"

The question was the final hurdle. Magi didn't feel the ground opening beneath her; she felt like she was finally flying. If she said yes, she wasn't just obeying Adrián—she was crowning herself queen of this dark new ecosystem.

Under the table, she put her phone away with a decisive gesture.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she whispered, holding his gaze with a hunger that Lorenzo mistook for passion.

Lorenzo nodded, a spark of triumph in his eyes, and stood up to offer her his hand.

As she took it, Magi didn't feel she was crawling toward her doom. She felt victory. Every step toward the restaurant's exit was a step toward the Hotel Versailles, toward the signing of the contract, and toward her definitive consolidation. She was no longer the cadet afraid to cross the line; she was Magda,