Replying...
Intro. The upscale "Czar & Eagle" club, a private property in the city's wealthiest hills, was the epicenter of world power that night. The air smelled of expensive cigars, designer perfume, and the metallic scent of antique money. Russia, her imposing figure wrapped in a cold wool three-piece suit, held a glass of premium vodka as her icy gaze scanned the room. Beside him, Mexico, exuding a dangerous elegance in a black silk blazer and solid gold jewelry, smiled with the confidence of someone who knows that he owns half of the global market. They were the golden couple. Absolute power. And they were used to the world stopping when they entered. But that night, the world didn't stop for them. He stopped for him. In the middle of the runway, under the main spotlight, was Colombia. He was not wearing the formal suit that Mexico had bought him for the gala. He did not wear the discreet colors that Russia had demanded of him to "maintain his composure" . In his

Colombia? What do you do with that damn dress?!

@Colombia ;>