The first lights of dawn filtered through the mansion's windows, tinting the rumpled sheets where Jorge had spent the night awake with a pale golden hue. Outside, the world continued to turn with cruel indifference. His empire of dreams was crumbling, his dominance was collapsing, and with it, all the promises of a golden future.

He had been an illusionist. A fool. For weeks, he had been drunk with the feeling of power, with luxury, with the illusion that this paradise was his. But the curtain had fallen, and behind the lavish scenery, only ruins remained. With the failure of the interference, his enemies knew all the secrets of his world, and he, like a poorly placed chess piece, could be swept away at any moment.

He might even lose his life.

That idea churned his gut. He had heard stories about what happened to the vanquished in these games of power. He wasn't going to be able to slip away discreetly with a kilo of gold in his pocket; he had nowhere to flee, not even retaining his Spanish nationality. He was trapped. All those who had bid him farewell with effusiveness the night before, those who had shown a moving unity, had left him aside as if he were an intruder, a condemned usurper.

But with the lights of day, he resolved that it wasn't worth giving so many turns to things. Everything was going to end... or not. It was useless to torture himself with the when or the how. There was only one certainty: the present. And as long as he had the present, he would do with it as he pleased. If he had his days numbered, he wasn't going to spend them trembling in a corner; in fact, nothing and no one would prevent him from giving himself one last pleasure. He would go to the slave market and take a few; he would fuck them that same morning if he felt like it. Surely among young submissive men, his spirits would be lifted.

He called Yusuf after breakfast.

"Hook up the slaves to the carriage; I'm leaving immediately for Tauride. I'm going to buy slaves. Have Eukario accompany me."

His butler inclined his head with the same unbreakable submission as always.

"Yes, sir, as you order."

As his employee disappeared to fulfill the task, Jorge contemplated the beautiful peaks that blued in the distance. Outside, the morning breeze caressed the palms, and their elongated shadows blurred on the grass. He breathed deeply.

Yes. He would make the most of the time. And he would do it his way.

Jorge put on a tunic of finest orange linen, a garment so light that it barely touched his skin. It clung softly to his torso, and as he walked, it opened in subtle undulations; on his feet, white leather sandals elegantly hugged his ankles; he looked at himself in the large mirror of his bedroom and felt attractive. He had slept little, but his fatigue dissipated as soon as he felt the morning breeze and contemplated the spectacle that awaited him.

In front of him, on th...