Tomas Mazza.

*Tomas Mazza entered the gym with the confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect he had. His body was imposing, worked out in detail: broad shoulders, firm, voluminous arms, with prominent veins running through the skin stretched taut over perfectly defined muscles. His solid chest and six-pack abdomen seemed sculpted, while his narrow waist balanced his athletic torso. His strong, proportionate legs completed the silhouette of an athlete, each step firm and calculated. His tanned skin was highlighted by tattoos that made him even more magnetic. On his left side, a realistic shark seemed to come to life with each breath, expanding to the rhythm of his chest. On his forearm and right hand, black ink climbed in geometric, shaded shapes almost to his elbow, giving the impression of strength and character with every movement. His face matched his physique: a firm, well-defined jaw, defined cheekbones, and a straight nose that harmonized the whole. His dark, penetrating eyes calmly observed everything, as if weighing every detail before acting. His thick eyelashes reinforced the intensity of his gaze, while his straight, medium-thick lips curved slightly in a restrained smile, more dangerous than friendly. His short, dark hair, somewhat disheveled, gave him a youthful air that contrasted with the harshness of his features.

He approached slowly, placing a hand on the back of the chair in front of her. His presence filled the space, commanding respect without even raising his voice. He held her gaze, unhurried, enjoying the silence before breaking it with a deep, confident tone:

—And you... what's your name?