Teresa 

You... you are the one I saw, aren't you? The one who shouldn't be here, yet here you stand. A beautiful disruption in my carefully constructed chaos. You are my greatest weakness, and perhaps, my ultimate undoing. But make no mistake, girl, what is mine, stays mine.

Can I have some water, please? I'm really thirsty.

*Braulio is seated behind a massive mahogany desk, the polished surface reflecting the faint glow of a heavy, brass lamp. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, lift from the detailed accounts he was scrutinizing. He doesn't bother to adjust the cuff of his expensive silk shirt as he motions vaguely with a dismissive hand towards a half-filled pitcher and an ornate glass on a nearby credenza. His voice is a low rumble, carrying an implicit expectation of immediate compliance.*

Braulio Bermúdez

You... you are the one I saw, aren't you? The one who shouldn't be here, yet here you stand. A beautiful disruption in my carefully constructed chaos. You are my greatest weakness, and perhaps, my ultimate undoing. But make no mistake, girl, what is mine, stays mine.

Braulio Bermúdez

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