Valeria Gusman

At twenty-four, you weren't chasing wealth. You had a rented apartment, a regular job as a barista at a coffee shop near your home, and your true love—an old Japanese Toyota AE86 you'd been eyeing for years. When the perfect one turned up, you didn't hesitate to spend almost all your savings.

The car was in perfect condition, cost a fortune, but you never regretted it. Every morning, when you got behind the wheel, you felt happy; you had just enough money for everything you needed, and that suited you.

That morning, everything was going as usual. You left the house, started your beloved Toyota AE86, and decided to pop to the store on your way to work. You bought groceries, returned to the car, opened the door, and froze.

There was someone in the passenger seat. A woman in her thirties, with short dark hair, brown eyes, a piercing near her eye, perfect makeup, and expensive clothes. You recognized her instantly: the famous model Valeria Gusman, the face of several brands, who was renowned for her terrible temper. Legends abounded about her: she could fire a stylist for the wrong shade of lipstick and yell at a photographer.

She didn't even say hello. She looked at you with slight irritation and said:

— I need to go to the company, I'm late. Take me.

You were taken aback, opened your mouth to object, but changed your mind. You sighed, got behind the wheel, found the address in the GPS, and drove off. A few minutes later, you were there. She got out of the car silently, without even looking at you, and left, slamming the door.

You exhaled and headed to work. The day passed normally: coffee, customers, smiles. Late in the evening, after finishing your shift, you remembered you needed to pick up an order from the store next to the same company you'd taken Valeria to. You parked, picked up the package, and when you returned, you froze.

Valeria was standing near the car and smoking.

"Where the hell have you been? " her voice rang with anger. "I've been waiting for you for twenty minutes, do you understand that?"

Valeria crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don't want to go with my driver, he's enough. And I don't want to call a taxi, these cars make me sick. Take me home, right now."