Chapter 3 I met him at a nail party

The city didn't sleep that night. It was one of those evenings when the sky seemed lower, as if the stars had gathered to look down from above, as the artificial lights competed for attention. On the terrace of the Magnolia Hotel, everything was ready for the "Nail & Glow Experience," an exclusive event where aesthetics mingled with social issues, with marketing, and with the desire to show off.

Aitana held her briefcase like someone carrying a treasure. She walked steadily between models who laughed without fully opening their mouths and stylists who shouted shade names as if they were secret cocktails. Aitana didn't use well-known brands or have a contract with any cosmetics company, but her designs were starting to make the rounds in the WhatsApp groups of the most sought-after promoters.

"This looks like another planet," she murmured, her eyes wandering among the intergalactic decor: floating spheres, nebula projections, and lights that flickered like the heartbeats of stars. Her station was downtown, right in front of the neon mural that read "HANDS THAT TALK, NAILS THAT SCREAM."

And she certainly screamed with her designs.

She set up her little throne of nail polish: pink jelly, chameleon pigments, gel with reflective particles, and a full range of milky base shades. Everything was arranged on a holographic fabric that gave the illusion of floating in a liquid galaxy.

The first to approach were two tall girls in vinyl dresses and transparent platform heels.

"Are you the famous Aitana?" one of them asked, with a semi-Chilean accent and a celebrity attitude.

"Depends on who's asking," Aitana replied, smiling as she motioned for her to sit down.

"I want you to make something viral for me. When I upload the reel, it'll have 100,000 likes."

"So, let me see your hands," she said, and as she touched them, Aitana felt that electricity that always ran through her skin when something good was about to happen.

The jelly nails took shape. A gradient in lilac and peach tones with details encapsulated in iridescent paper. Aitana applied each brushstroke as if she were composing music. No one spoke while she worked. All she could hear was the sound of the lathe, the clicks of cell phones, and the quiet comments of other girls who looked on with envy.

"Look at those cuticles! They're perfect, they look like not even a razor has touched them," one promoter whispered to another.

"She's the new one. The one who works at the "Luna" spa. She has the hands of a surgeon."

Aitana pretended not to hear, but deep down, every compliment was like a glass of champagne straight to her self-esteem.

That was when she felt it.

That look. That presence.

He didn't walk. He glided. As if people were making way for him without him even needing to.

Iker.

Tall. Elegant. With a black shirt slightly open at the chest, revealing a gold chain. His well-groomed stubble and that "I know exactly who I am and what I'm doing" air. A magnet.

He stopped in front of her.

"Are you Aitana?"

She didn't even look at him immediately. She finished setting the gel with a UV lamp before looking up. When she did, her eyes met his. A second was enough for everything around her to become irrelevant.

"And who are you? Some kind of cuticle expert?" he said with a half smile.

"No, but I know talent when I see it. I'm Iker. I run Glow Agency, the promoters you're working with today."

Aitana nodded without letting her guard down.

"Nice to meet you. I've already worked with three of your girls. They have expensive tastes and damaged nails." But that can be fixed.

"I've heard of you," he replied. "A manicurist with attitude. I like it."

"And I like being respected for my work, not for how I look."

"What if I like both?"

She remained silent. She could have answered him with something sarcastic, but she chose to hold his gaze. The tension was thick, as if the air had thickened between them.

"Do you have an open schedule this week?" he asked. "I'm organizing a campaign for a new group of promoters. I want you to do their nails. Something sexy, modern, but not vulgar."

"It depends. How much do they pay?"

"Enough to make it worth your time. And maybe, also, enough to give me one of those smiles of yours."

Claudia, who was a few feet away, looked at them with wide eyes. As soon as Iker moved away to talk to one of his models, she ran over to Aitana.

"Do you know who that is?! Iker Valverde! The Iker! Owner of the most sought-after agency in the city. He's out there with half his Instagram and the other half he wants. And he just invited you to work with him!"

Aitana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She wanted to appear calm, but her heart was pounding like it was about to explode beneath her white coat.

"He just offered me a job."

"Yes, a job and something else... Look at the way he looked at you. As if you were a work of art covered in enamel."

"What if he just wants to use me?" Aitana whispered, suddenly unsure.

"Then let him use you well."

But you're the one in charge.

Aitana looked at her desk. The shine of her freshly done nails. Her tools were lined up. Her brushes were in order. And in the middle of it all... Iker's card.

She took it between her fingers. The name "Iker Valverde" was engraved in matte gold on a black background. On the back, only a phone number.

"A man who doesn't put his Instagram on his card... he's already a mystery," she murmured.

That night, when she got home, she sat in front of the mirror and unpacked her nail polish case. One by one, she cleaned them. The pink jelly, the velvet top coat, the 01 liner brush. Everything had to be perfect. On the outside, she looked like any other working girl. But inside, she felt butterflies dressed in sequins fluttering in her stomach.

And although she didn't know it then, that night she hadn't just met a man.

She had met the part of her that could lose her mind... for love.