... Mexico City, 5pm ...
"My queen, it is my pleasure to meet you again."
Damian's eyes narrowed at the sight of the man before him. A Mexican with a thick mustache and a painfully corny sense of fashion stood there with several buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a patch of chest hair. Yet despite the ridiculous appearance, there was an undeniable confidence in the way he carried himself. Every movement had flair, every gesture laced with a kind of swagger that naturally drew attention.
Compared to himself, the man was inferior in every measurable way.
Yet it seemed he was completely unaware of that gap.
That was the only reason he dared to flirt with his wife in his presence.
The only thing holding Damian back from striking him down on the spot was the stench clinging to the man's body. It was thick, unmistakable. Demonic. They were not speaking to a human, but to a demon inhabiting one.
