The sun hung mercilessly over Mexico City International Airport, turning the tarmac into a mirror of heat and light as the plane finally rolled to a stop.

Damián stepped out wearing dark glasses and a calm expression that hid years of exhaustion. At thirty-five, he carried the kind of confidence that only comes from surviving failure more than once. He had built his fortune without inheritance, without shortcuts—restaurants that began as a single food stall, real estate deals that demanded sleepless nights, investments that took him from Monterrey to Dubai and back again.

Five years.

Five years without a real home. Five years of hotels, meetings, contracts, and lonely dinners eaten over spreadsheets.

And now, he was back.