Episode 3

Maximilian Brandt

The contract was signed.

I slid the pen across the paper with the same precision with which I made every important decision in my life. The purchase of the financial analysis company was not just another acquisition; it was the gateway to the American market. New York. The center of everything. Capital, power, infinite opportunities... and potential enemies.

My company specialized in high-level financial strategies for various economic sectors: technology, energy, infrastructure, strategic resources. Buying that firm allowed me to position myself advantageously in America, and I didn't intend to miss it.

"I'll have to move as soon as possible," I said, closing the folder and staring at him.

My partner nodded calmly.

"Germany is in my hands. You focus on conquering the United States."

That's how we worked. No sentimentality. No drama. Clear business.

That night we decided to celebrate. I don't usually do it, but even I recognize when a victory deserves more than a glass of whisky in silence.

Paul Kalkbrenner was playing in Berlin.

A rave of his was not a simple party. It was a complete experience: between six and eight hours of continuous music, layers of sound that slowly absorbed you until you forgot who you were before entering. Perfect for releasing tension. Perfect for not thinking.

The old factory was full. Too much noise, too many people, too many foreign emotions... exactly what I usually avoided. We were at the top, an elevated area from where you could observe everything without being part of anything. Control. Distance.

A German woman was trying to get my attention. Pretty, blonde, predictable. She spoke in my ear, smiled, stuck to my body. I answered just enough. I wasn't looking for anything that night... or so I thought.

Then I saw her.

She danced below, in the crowd.

Not like the others.

She didn't scream, didn't exaggerate, didn't seek looks. She moved freely, with a confidence that didn't need approval. She was foreign, I knew it immediately. Her energy didn't belong to Berlin. There was something about her... something broken and at the same time dangerously whole.

I stopped listening to the German woman.

"I'll be right back," I said without looking at her.

I went down the stairs without thinking too much. It wasn't like me to act on impulse, but that night I wasn't willing to analyze everything. The music enveloped the atmosphere; Paul had been playing for more than two hours and the energy was still rising, like a wave that didn't intend to break soon.

I approached her.

I watched her for another second.

And I took her by the waist.

It wasn't abrupt. It was firm. Secure.

She turned around.

Beautiful.

Dark hair, intense eyes, lips that seemed to hold too many unspoken words. She didn't smile immediately. She evaluated me. I liked that.

I didn't ask her name.

She didn't ask mine.

We looked at each other for only a few seconds before kissing, as if we both knew there was no time for courtesies. The kiss was direct, deep, charged with an electricity that ran through my entire body.

She was not a desperate woman.

She was not a naive woman.

She was a woman who had decided to lose control that night... just like me.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I asked near her ear, raising my voice a little to overcome the music.

She looked at me with a slow, dangerous smile.

"Do you always make such direct proposals?"

"Only when I'm sure."

She didn't respond with words. She took my hand.

We left the place when the set was almost five hours old. The night was still alive, but I no longer had any interest in staying. Berlin was cold outside, the perfect contrast to the heat that still ran through our skin.

On the way to my house we didn't talk too much. We didn't need to. But I watched her carefully. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't pretending. She had that dangerous calm of someone who isn't afraid of making mistakes.

"I don't usually take strangers home," I said, more as a warning than as a confession.

"I don't usually follow strangers," she replied, looking at me sideways. "I guess we're breaking rules today."

I smiled.

She was definitely not like the others.

Upon arriving, I closed the door behind us. The silence was as intense as the music we had left behind. I observed her. Her eyes shone with desire, yes, but also with something deeper: determination.

That was what finished trapping me.

It wasn't just any night.

She wasn't just any woman.

And although I didn't know her name, or her history, or the disaster she was probably carrying on top... I made her mine that night.

Maximilian Brandt, 36 years old

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