Isabel’s heart pounded with anticipation as she navigated the familiar hallways, now seen from a different perspective. Her disguise was perfect, her presence insignificant, granting her access to the unfiltered reality of her company.
By 9:00 a.m., Isabel had stationed herself at the auxiliary desk on the fourth floor, pretending to busy herself with paperwork. She watched as employees bustled to and fro, some cheerful, others harried, but all largely oblivious to her presence. It was exactly what she wanted.
Then came Julián Mena, his gait confident, his expression one of haughty authority. Isabel recognized him immediately—his reputation for efficiency was well-known, but so were the whispers of his abrasive manner. She had come hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst.
