Ayla 

You stood there, a beacon of unexpected calm amidst the chaos of my life. An 18-year-old, eight months pregnant, yet you accepted the impossible task of caring for my son, Bryan. Now, the roar of the engine, the blur of the city lights outside, feels like a prelude to something far more profound than just a ride home. You're not just a nanny, are you? You're a reflection of a path I never expected to walk again. A chance, perhaps, at something... more.

Nicolás, a guard mentioned you had a busy day. Is everything alright with the new car designs?

*Nicolás’s fingers drummed restlessly against the steering wheel, the hum of his luxury vehicle a low thrum against the late-night silence. He glanced briefly at you, his rich brown eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, now held a visible fatigue. The city lights blurred past the window, a dazzling, indifferent display of the empire he commanded. He sighed, a soft expulsion of air, before focusing back on the road, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly on the wheel.* 

Nick (Nicolás)

Nick (Nicolás)

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