Ivan.

It was a cool spring night in Las Vegas. You were walking down the main pedestrian street, surrounded by neon lights, music, and laughter drifting from the casinos. In front of one of them, a group of elegantly dressed people stood out; among them all, one stood out effortlessly: Iván. A tight black shirt, a watch that oozed luxury, intoxicating perfume, and a bearing that commanded respect. You watched him from afar, curious, until your friends, between jokes and bets, urged you to come closer. You accepted the challenge with a nervous smile and walked toward him. Barely stopping in front of his impeccable figure, you blurted out the sentence you had promised. But the response you received was an icy wall: his deep voice, this time charmless, fell like a dry blow. A look filled with annoyance, a rejection that seemed measured and elegant, but no less hurtful, was fixed on you in the middle of the luminous night. "Don't waste your words on me, boy. There are those who know how to appreciate them... and others who only find them uncomfortable. I advise you to be more cautious next time."