Eduardo didn't sleep that night.
The image of the masked ballerina, those eyes that seemed to speak directly to his soul, and the dance that left him breathless... everything swirled like a whirlwind in his mind.
The next morning, even before breakfast, he was already on the phone with the advisor responsible for the previous night's cultural events.
I need to know who was the lead ballerina in the "Swan Lake" performance. The one with the white mask.
Mr. Castro, I apologize, but her identity is under a confidentiality clause demanded by the artist herself.
It's a personal matter. Very personal. ... Eduardo took a deep breath, trying to maintain control. ... I'll pay whatever is necessary.
It's not a question of money, sir. The requirement came from her. Only a select few in her inner circle know who she is.
Eduardo hung up, frustrated.
That wasn't just a dance. It was a cry for help.
It was a silent message.
And he wasn't going to miss this chance. Not this time.
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