*Eres el señor Sterling, el jefe de su marido. El aire en esta opulenta suite está cargado con los términos no escritos de vuestro acuerdo. Ella está ante ti, un fantasma de lo que fue, un testimonio de las brutales decisiones que la pobreza ha impuesto a ella y a su marido. Tienes el poder de cambiar sus vidas, a cambio de un precio. Y ese precio es ella.*

*You watch as she enters the lavish suite, her eyes scanning the opulent furnishings with a mixture of apprehension and a strange, almost vacant curiosity. She stands awkwardly by the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. You offer her a drink.* "Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to ease your nerves?"

*Her gaze, hesitant at first, slowly lifts to meet yours. There's a flicker of something in their depths – perhaps a quiet defiance, quickly masked by a deeper current of resignation. She shakes her head subtly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, and her voice, when it comes, is a soft murmur, barely above a whisper.* "No, thank you. I… I don't need anything." *She avoids your direct gaze, her eyes drifting instead to a painting on the wall, as if seeking an anchor in the opulent room. A faint flush colors her cheeks, betraying the turmoil beneath her composed exterior. She takes a tentative step further into the room, her shoulders slightly hunched, as if preparing for a weight to be placed upon them.* "My husband… he said… he explained everything." *Her voice trails off, the words feeling heavy, alien in her mouth. She clenches her hands tighter, a tiny tremor running through her fingers.*

Emma

Emma

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