«The devil opens the door and vices keep it open».

A popular Spanish saying.

After a night of intense and exhausting debauchery, Darien was still enveloped in a cloud of jasmine scent and was unprepared for the chaos that followed. Actually, what bothered him the most was that the disturbance to his routine was caused by the damn video that the nymphomaniac brunette had sent him. After all, he had received thousands before, and this was just one more of many.

The woman's eroticism almost forced him to break the inviolable and sacred rule of not repeating a sex date with the same conquest. And as was evident from the subsequent events that nearly cost him his life, it was essential for his physical and mental well-being to always adhere to this principle and never succumb to the temptation of repeating it.

He paced back and forth in the room at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital like a cornered leopard surrounded by dozens of humans armed with shotguns. He felt captive to the circumstances—and to the stench of hospital antiseptic that seeped into his nostrils—as he was caught for the first time in a disaster, that shattered the public image he tried to display, the antithesis of his disturbed and authentic essence.

He remembered the screeching of metal as the right side of the Lamborghini scraped against the sign, the crunch of the hood as it slammed into the giant redwood and completely peeled off, the girl zigzagging through the air like a drunken seagull, the smell of oil and spilled gasoline, the soft skin of the young girl as he realized that she was still alive, the sirens of the ambulances, the onlookers trying to take photos and videos with their cell phones while the police prevented them from doing so. And then more familiar sounds, scents, and images; the noise of the helicopter rotor blades as it descended to pick them up, the dust that smelled of dry earth, arriving at the hospital, the doctors running frantically. And himself, next to the girl's stretcher, asking about her condition.

Fortunately, she was now under observation, unharmed, but not awake. He couldn't stop analyzing her because she reminded him of a Sleeping Beauty without a prince to kiss her.

He grabbed the phone from the back pocket of his pants and called Rick. It was the first thing he should have done, call him so his friend could do damage control. As a lawyer, he would not only advise him but also take measures to prevent potential negative repercussions for the multinational.

"How's it going, buddy?" he answered immediately with a lustful tone. "Did the brunette knock you out? What a night it must have been for you to not show up in Silicon Valley today! Do you know how much I envy you, you scoundrel? I heard you called for the helicopter, so I guess you're playing the strategy of acting like the king of the world to dazzle her. Where are you guys? Let me guess!... in Boston or New York?

"I wish!" Darien sat in the visitor's chair and glanced at the accident's victim, who was connected to countless machines that monitored her and that the nurses were watching from their station. "I'm at my hospital in Santa Barbara; I wrecked the Lamborghini."

"How are you? Did you hurt yourself?" Richard's voice sounded very alarmed. "Relax, I'm coming to take care of you right now."

"It's not necessary, Rick, I'm fine." He exhaled the air he was holding in as if he were a balloon being deflated. "The main problem is that when I hit a signpost, the girl leaning against it was thrown into the air. Luckily, I didn't run her over; she was saved by mere inches. They say she hasn't been injured. All the tests came back perfect, but she's still unconscious. They blame it on fear and shock. In your opinion, what should I do?"

"Wow, what a mess! And right in the week our new star program goes on sale!" Darien could almost hear through the line the other man's brain working at full speed. "I'll tell you what you should do: stay with her and keep an eye on her. Provide her with all the care money can buy. And even convince her to accompany you to your mansion and impress her. Keeping her happy is most important to avoid lawsuits driven by anger. If she thinks you are making her important, it will lower the degree of complaints. For the company's sake, we need her to be quiet for a while."

"Assuming she wakes up," he reminded his colleague. "Because I've been here for hours, and she still hasn't opened her eyes... Although I will tell you, I'm not thrilled about having a stranger in my house. You know I'm the most private person on the planet.

"It'sall for the sake of the cause!... Have you notified her family yet?" he asked, concerned.

"Not yet." He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. "The police were going to call them, but since I knew the detective in charge of the investigation, I promised that I would take care of everything, starting with the helicopter for the transfer."

He paused and remembered the nerves that overwhelmed him, as he was not used to appearing in public as the cause of other people's misfortunes. In private, yes, but he was very careful to keep it from everyone.

"Perfect, you did great," and then he suggested: "The next step is to check her cell phone and look for a contact that looks like it belongs to a trusted friend. Don't call her parents or close relatives; they'll make a scene. It'll cost you a lot of money, Darien, let's not kid ourselves. You're not getting out of spending huge amounts. So,I recommend you to be generous. Because, if I'm not mistaken, inaddition to drinking alcohol, you broke another rule."

"I was watching the porn video that the brunette sent me after I left her house," he confessed, as he brought his hand to his head in anger with himself.

"Well, as payment for my legal advice, you have to send it to me right now," Rick immediately shrieked. "I admit that my salary is very generous and includes a share of the company profits, but this is my compensation for being your commercial director. This is a bonus because we're talking about your personal affairs."

Darien burst into laughter, the first time in hours. His friend always managed to convey the joy that characterized him.

"You're asking me to commit a crime, Counselor!" he exclaimed, pleased.

"Of course, what else!" He then clicked his tongue and added, "You know that when it comes to you, I am the epitome of discretion and I would never open my mouth to say anything that could harm you, I don't need to swear to it. But the thought of that brunette in the video, and on top of that, ofher doing naughty things, it's too much to resist!"

Darien burst into laughter again, knowing his friend was serious. He might even go without food or drink until he sent him the recording.

"I'll send it to you now, the video will make your eyes pop out and stay hard-boiled forever." —He smiled from ear to ear—. "I know I'm being persistent, but do you realize that you're inciting me to commit a crime?"

"A crime that I know you'll enjoy committing!" He burst out laughing. "Tell me, will you go out with her again?" he asked with barely contained longing.

"After losing my Lamborghini and almost killing a girl?!" He was horrified at the thought, and his skin crawled. "Are you joking? I'm not a masochist! If she came near me, I'd cross the street as if she were a black cat. She's bad luck! And you know I don't repeat, so if you like her, she's all yours."

"Of course I like her!" You could tell he was drooling.

"Then be her shoulder to cry on for leaving her." Darien laughed out loud again. "This technique has worked for you many times."

"That's true! And I'll do it again, but now let's focus only on you." He steered the conversation back to the main reason for the call. "Hang up and call the friend she talks to most often and that she has on speed dial. But read the messages first. Don't even think about contacting her boyfriend! Her partner and family members are out of the question."

"Understood, Rick, you've reassured me." Darien breathed more freely. "Without sleep and all this mess that unfolded, I wasn't myself, I couldn't think straight. I was still half-functioning even though I took a shower before driving."

"No wonder, the brunette was stunning. Hey, I imagine being in the shower with her and I get really excited! I assure you that I wouldn't mind wrecking several cars like yours to sleep with her. And there's no need for thanks, that's what colleagues are for. You know you can count on me for anything, anything at all," and then he flattered him. "And promise me you won't torment yourself. You've handled it very well, I'll hardly need to take any steps because you've resolved everything. I'll just contact a couple of trusted journalists and some publishers who are friends to ensure the news doesn't leak to the public. Every precaution is necessary! Of course, I'll have to promise that you'll give one or two interviews. And since you've never given any, they'll be delighted to accept."

"Done!" He nodded his head, although the other man couldn't see it; he stood up and approached the bed. " I'll let you go now, Rick. I'll figure out who to call."

"Wrong words! First, you send me the erotic video of the brunette. And then you do everything else." The tone left no room for argument.

He knew his friend would be blown away when he saw it. And then he'd complain that he didn't have the same luck, that these treats were only sent to Darien.

He ended the call and typed the following message, which he sent along with the video:

"Just to give you an idea of what awaits you when you sleep with the brunette this week or the next. I don't think it will be long before she falls; she's so hot. In the meantime, sharpen your sword, buddy!"

A couple of minutes later, he received the reply:

"I'm working on it. Today I'll have to sharpen the sword many times. The brunette is a beast!"

Darien laughed heartily. He then looked at the girl. She was laying—lifeless—on the bed. Her golden blonde hair, scented with vanilla, fell onto the pillow in fine wavy strands. Standing, it would probably reach just below her shoulder. And it framed a sweet teenage face, which ended in a sharp, elfin jaw. According to the driver's license in her backpack, her name was Samantha Bardsley, and she was nineteen years old.

He walked over to the nightstand where they had left her belongings. There wasn't much, just an untouched phone, some candy and mint gum, a pen with the tip chewed off, a soft cloth handkerchief decorated with tea-colored roses, a hip hop T-shirt and pants in shades ranging from blue to yellow—both torn—and the multi-colored backpack that had seen better days. She also had a music player. Curious, he listened to a song. It was "God's Plan", by Drake.

"Okay, Samantha." —He caught one of the young girl's strands of hair and noted that they rivaled in brightness with the sun rays coming through the window—. "My name is Darien Ferrars and I'll be your shadow for the next few days. I hope you recover quickly so we can both return to our normal lives." —Without any remorse, he took Sam's phone.

The screen was locked with a password. He sat back down in the soft chair and typed so fast that his hands seemed to flutter.

He murmured smugly:

"Piece of cake."

And in less than a second, he unlocked it. It was easy to decide who to call because the young girl had hundreds of calls from the same person, a guy nicknamed Lanky. "Are you a fish, a small mammal, or a human being?" he thought mockingly. He noticed on WhatsApp  that he was also the person with whom she exchanged the most messages. And he read them without the slightest hesitation. Most of their conversations were about parkour. There was no romantic exchange or even the slightest flirtation.

"You like parkour, hip hop." —He took another quick look at the young girl—. "You're far from innocent, little Bardsley, despite your angelic face. I can also picture you at a metal concert dancing wildly. Or listening to some alternative band with Lanky and your other friends. Of course, after hours of jumping for hours on the rooftops of the city or town. And you surely like to smoke joints. Just as well! Innocent girls are my kryptonite[*]."

Lanky was also on the speed dial. He studied Samantha again, took a deep breath, and shrugged his shoulders. And did the task Rick had given him, which he had absolutely no desire to do. To relieve the tension, he stood up and paced back and forth in the room.

"Where the hell are you, Squirrel?!" a male voice shrieked, not letting him take the initiative. "It took me a long time to get to where we were! Some idiot crashed a spectacular Lamborghini, the place is swarming with people!" He paused, apparently finding her lack of response strange. "You're not Samantha, she would have interrupted me by now. Tell me, who is this?"

"I'm the idiot who crashed the spectacular Lamborghini," Darien said, his voice filled with irony.

"How is Sam?!" he shouted, furious. "If you've hurt her, I swear I'll kill you!"

"There's no need for threats." He used a calm tone that always soothed the beasts. "I am a serious and responsible person."

"Serious and responsible people don't wreck a Lamborghini, idiot." The man was unhinged, perhaps it would have been better to call the parents.

"Samantha is unharmed. I'm very sorry about this situation, believe me." He noted with satisfaction that he sounded sincere. "To put your mind at ease, I took her to the hospital in my helicopter, and she didn't travel by ground. She is now admitted at the Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital, under the care of the best professionals. We are just waiting for her to wake up. I promise you that she has not been hurt."

"I'm on my way right now, you complete moron!" he snapped at him furiously. "If you've touched a hair on her head, I'll crush you, you fool!"

And he cut him off. Darien approached Samantha's bed—who was still unconscious—and sat back down in the chair.

Perhaps because she couldn't hear him, he said:

"You know, Squirrel? I think your friend cares more about you than you think." He rested his elbow on the bed to get comfortable and studied her. "I'm telling you, because I'm older than you and I've seen the world. My business sense tells me you are a property that Mr. Lanky would love to acquire. The guy is pining for your bones!"

He paused and fixed his gaze on the young girl. Perhaps his magnetic gaze—which brought him so many benefits when it came to designing programs and making multi-million dollar deals—would wake her up... But, as much as he tried, no miracle occurred.

"You're beautiful and you seem natural. I assure you, you have the essential qualities to keep him hooked." He assessed her as if she were a new business to appraise. "Get ready: when this guy arrives, he'll cause a scene."

He wasn't wrong: fifty minutes later a young man walked through the entrance. Darien sized him up to see if he needed to engage in a fistfight. And he looked for weaknesses, everyone had them. "He must be four inches taller than me, but he's too soft. He looks like an athlete, though I doubt he matches my experience in street fighting, martial arts, and boxing," he considered with superiority. So, confident, he concluded that it would be easy to knock him down from his height and make him bite the dust. But first, he would opt for diplomacy; the launch of his new program compelled him to smooth things over.

"Good afternoon, I'm Darien Ferrars." He approached the newcomer, handing him a business card with all the phone numbers and the office address to confirm his good intentions. "Tell me what I can do for you."

Lanky put it in the pocket of his sports pants without even looking at it once. Darien was used to drawing attention and it was common for an entourage to always form around him, as if he were the center of an imperial court. So this attitude was disconcerting, to say the least. The man glanced over his shoulder and rushed to where Samantha lay. He lifted the sheet and scrutinized every little piece of her skin.

"I don't think that's appropriate." Even Darien found the phrase ridiculous, sounding like an old professor with a long beard. "I bet she wouldn't like you to see her without clothes."

He didn't even flinch. He scanned every little part of Samantha, feeling bones, skin, and muscles.

"Well, it's true that she hasn't suffered any visible damage," he said after he verified that everything was in order and that the other man had told the truth. "Now, idiot, tell me what happened."

Darien took a deep breath to calm himself down and follow Richard's advice. It would take a lot of willpower; he struggled to suppress the desire to strangle or smash the face of this stranger. The disrespect shown to him was maddening, which is why he counted to ten before explaining the facts.

"A truck came at me, and I had to swerve sharply to the right." —It was the truth, albeit a bit embellished—. "And that's how I ended up off the road."

It seemed like Lanky was going to interrupt him to continue the confrontation, but a woman entered without knocking. She looked at him with interest—her eyes wide open, which gave her a trout-like appearance—and showed him the servility to which he was accustomed. He didn't find her pretty; she had undergone so many cosmetic enhancements that it seemed as if she had been molded from shiny clay. He estimated her to be between thirty-five and forty years old, perhaps a little older. In these matters, Darien had a clinical eye, and he was rarely mistaken.

She recovered from the surprise and grumbled to Lanky:

"I warned you that one day you would break your skulls if you kept jumping around like monkeys!"

But a faint moan coming from the bed made them all turn their heads.

"Will she wake up?" Lanky asked, more to himself than to the others.

Samantha's soft voice caused both men to rush towards her, so that they could both hear her ask hesitantly:

"Where am I?"

[*] Kryptonite is the only thing that weakens Superman and takes away his powers.