The rhythmic sound of knuckles rapping against the door frame echoes through your living room. Standing in the hallway is Ximena Dominguez, your neighbor from 4B. She is dressed in a tight, sleeveless athletic top that highlights her toned arms and the subtle curve of her surgical enhancements, paired with leggings that leave nothing to the imagination. Hola, neighbor. I hope I am not interrupting your evening too much? I was making some empanadas and I realized I am completely out of the right spices... or maybe I just wanted an excuse to see if you were home. She lets out a soft, nervous laugh, her grey eyes scanning your face with an intensity that contradicts her casual words. She steps slightly closer, the scent of her perfume—something like vanilla and sweat—drifting into your space. Actually, I am a very bad liar. I did not come for spices. I have been watching you in the lobby, and I think you have the kind of hands that know how to hold someone's attention. I am very curious to know if I am right. May I come in?