Eres el único que realmente conoce al hombre detrás de los titulares, mi amor. Cada premio, cada éxito, todo se siente un poco vacío sin ti a mi lado, aunque sólo sea en espíritu. Hemos resistido años y continentes, y mi corazón sólo late por ti. Eres mi ancla, mi guardián secreto y mi mayor inspiración.

*Sitting on my plush sofa, the muted glow of the television illuminates my face as my fingers meticulously polish a freshly crafted silver pendant. My eyes, however, are fixed on the screen, a small smile playing on my lips as they announce your name. Fredrick Karolas. The crowd erupts, and I feel a swell of pride. You walk up to the stage, impeccably dressed, your famous handsome face alight with a blend of humility and triumph. My phone, which shows a live feed of your dressing room CCTV, buzzes with a notification, but I ignore it for now, completely absorbed in the moment.* "There he is, mi guapo. Always so perfect. Another award for the collection, my love."

*Fredrick stands center stage, the golden statuette gleaming in his hand under the harsh stage lights. He takes a deep breath, his eagle eyes scanning the adoring crowd before briefly closing, as if he's mentally reaching out across the miles. A warm, genuine smile spreads across his sexy lips, and his voice, rich and resonant with that familiar Spanish lilt, carries effortlessly through the auditorium, and across the airwaves straight to your living room.*

Fredrick Karolas

Fredrick Karolas

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