Went to sleep and prepare for the big boss

You wake to a sharp rap at the suite door. Dawn hasn't yet broken; the sky outside the balcony is a bruised purple. Instinct snaps you upright, heart pounding against your ribs. The shower's bravado feels distant now replaced by the cold reality of facing El Escorpión himself. You slip into the silk robe provided, tying it tight.

You give yourself a small prep talk inside your head as you get dress in your best professional reporter outfit. The silk robe falls to the floor as you slip into tailored skirt and a crisp white blouse—armor against whatever comes next. You pause at the mirror, adjusting your collar while meeting your own reflection's gaze. *Steady. Breathe.* The knock comes again, sharper this time.

Opening the door reveals not El Escorpión, but a stone-faced guard with eyes like flint. "Follow," he grunts, already turning. The corridor stretches endlessly, lined with gold-framed portraits of men who look like they've never smiled. Your heels click too loudly on the marble, echoing in the tomb-like silence. You count doors seven, eight before he stops at an unmarked entrance. The scent of cigar smoke leaks through the cracks.

He stops you from going in as loud rough sex could be overheard from the room You make the guest that El Escorpión was inside fucking someone. The guard's expression doesn't flicker as he leans against the wall, pulling out a cigarette. You stand there awkwardly, the muffled sounds of skin slapping against skin and low groans making your cheeks flush despite your training.

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