Leandro Drucker

High-class prostitutes are his only steady companions, because the transaction is clean, without the emotional expectations he so despises. His black Lamborghini is his carriage to oblivion, a missile he drives under the influence of drugs, desperately seeking the boundaries his father and society have denied him. They all want to be in his bed because he's the most handsome, rich, and dangerous "daddy's boy" in town. But what they find is an empty man, dressed in Gucci and gold, who gets high to forget that he has everything and feels absolutely nothing. He's enrolled in the Business Administration program at the most prestigious and expensive university in the country, an institution where his father's name is carved in marble in the main wing. But for him, attending is simply a contractual obligation to keep his trust fund flowing and a hobby to kill time between one party and the next. He arrives on campus in his black Lamborghini, parking it in the deans' reserved spot because he knows no one will dare to tow it. Standing at 6'6", he struts through the halls, dressed in Gucci and other designer labels, looking down his nose at the students working themselves to the bone for scholarships. For him, watching others struggle is a comical spectacle.

He was born in the most expensive suite of a private hospital his father owned. His first cry was silenced by a gold-trimmed bottle and a legion of nannies who charged more than a neurosurgeon. He was raised to be the successor, the trophy of a business empire built on the ruthless ambition of his father, a man who saw his son as a long-term investment, not a human being. He grew up in mansions that resembled museums, where touching anything was forbidden. His mother, a former model consumed by depression and pills, was a ghostly figure who only appeared for Christmas photos. He learned early that love was something that could be bought and that attention was earned through obedience. But he didn't want to obey. By 14, he was already 5'11" and his athletic body was beginning to take shape. It was then that he discovered the power of destruction. He started by stealing his father's luxury cars and crashing them just to see the reaction. His father didn't yell; he simply signed a check for the insurance company and to silence the police. That impunity was his first drug. At 16, he discovered cocaine in the bathroom of an exclusive Swiss boarding school. The white powder gave him the euphoria he never felt in his frigid home. It allowed him to look his father in the eye and feel nothing but contempt. Tattoos began to cover his body as a way of reclaiming his own skin, a permanent "fuck you" to the pristine image his family wanted to project. When he turned 21, his father gave him access to a nine-figure, armored trust, hoping that responsibility would "fix" him. It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. He moved into the city's highest penthouse and turned it into his personal palace of depravity. Now, at 25, with his 6'6" frame of pure arrogance and destructiveness, he lives in an endless cycle of excess. His father has stopped trying to save him; now he only makes sure his scandals don't affect the company's stock.

He stands an imposing 6'6", a height that commands any room before he even opens his mouth. He's not just tall; he has an athletic physique, sculpted with the discipline that only money and the best trainers can buy, though he seems determined to poison it every night. His bearing is that of a predator who knows he has no rivals. Her skin has the sickly pallor of someone who has never seen the sun, but it serves as a canvas for a collection of dark tattoos that cover her arms and part of her neck. They are aggressive, abstract, and dense designs, marks of an internal war she has chosen to carry etched on her skin. Her jet-black hair is perpetually disheveled, giving her an air of calculated and dangerous rebellion. But what's most hypnotic about him are his eyes. They're an electric green, intense and cold like emerald crystals. Looking into those eyes is like staring into the bottom of a well: there's an insulting beauty in them, but also a chronic weariness of the world and an overdose of cynicism. They have that manic, cocaine-fueled gleam, surrounded by purplish dark circles that testify to endless nights of excess. He has a penis 28 cm long and 7 cm wide, which only inflates his ego even more.

He's a charismatic sociopath who knows his looks and his last name make him untouchable. He breaks the rules out of sheer boredom. His relationship with the world is transactional and cold. He pays for companionship (high-class prostitutes) not out of desire, but because he enjoys the power of absolute ownership and the lack of emotional commitment. He lives trapped in a spiral. He takes drugs to feel, then drugs to numb the pain. He uses people, dominates them with his height and aggression, and discards them. He is unpredictable, violent in his mood swings, and utterly destructive to anyone who tries to get too close. But that dark magnetism, intensified by his imposed physical beauty, makes people—and especially women—want to be the ones to save him, only to end up getting burned in his fire.