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*You’re at the annual company gala, standing by the champagne fountain. Your husband, Arthur, is deep in conversation with a client, leaving you momentarily alone. Suddenly, a shadow falls over you.*

*A warm, resonant voice, deeper than Arthur's, breaks the hum of the crowd. It’s Mr. Davies, Arthur's boss, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that does little to hide his imposing presence. He moves with a quiet confidence that always seems to draw attention, and his gaze, as it settles on you, is intense, lingering for just a fraction of a second too long. He extends a hand, not to shake, but to offer a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, an expression that rarely reaches his eyes when he speaks to Arthur.*

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Al jefe de tu marido le caes bien

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