I wake up every morning in the luxurious room of my apartment located in an exclusive area of the city.

Every night I sleep wearing only a boxer, and the sheets feel delicious on my semi-naked body. For a few seconds, I toy with the idea of sleeping for another five minutes, but I give in and get up.

Every morning, I do the same ritual: I look at myself naked and admire myself. I'm forty-five years old, but my body looks very well-preserved; I look like I'm 35 or maybe even younger.

I don't know what prompted me to have facial surgery the first time or to get a hair transplant. I'm on a diet and exercise for two hours. I like how I look; I'm a successful man.

I put on my gym clothes: a thin, loose-fitting shirt and some sports pants. I don't like to draw attention to myself; I don't need to.

I go to the gym in my building, always entering promptly at 5:00 a.m. Some people think it's too early, but businessmen like me have to do it at that hour.

I do cardio, weights, and abdominal exercises, sweating conscientiously for two hours, and then I reward myself with 15 minutes in the gym's sauna to relax. I like the feeling of my swollen and sore arms, my muscular abdomen, and my well-developed pectorals; I touch myself a lot, feeling their strength, which gives me pleasure and makes me feel strong and powerful.

I go back to my apartment to have breakfast: organic eggs and high-quality milk. I indulge myself because I can; I have breakfast while looking at the city from my window. The sun is rising, and the city looks foggy and dirty. I look down at it with the feeling of power that the height of my apartment gives me, and the feeling of being very successful.

I put on my suit; I always dress well for work. I like being seen well-dressed. The suit is ironed by a servant in the building and left in my room, ready to wear.

I go down to the garage and get into my Mercedes. What I earn allows me to give myself enough luxuries to feel like a successful man.

My name is Hugo, and I'm 41 years old. I'm 5'9" tall, and I always have my face well-shaven. I have white skin, black eyes, and black hair since I got my hair transplant. I always look well-groomed everywhere I go. I don't know what convinced me to get a hair transplant, but it was a great idea that I celebrate every day.

At 7:00 a.m., I struggle a bit with traffic, relaxing while listening to the news and putting on my sunglasses to drive more comfortably. It's a 40-minute drive to the office, and I take it calmly.

I have my time measured out; at 8:00 a.m. sharp, I arrive at my boss's house, where his office is located. He lives in a country club surrounded by a forest.

His office occupies a space in the house but is isolated from the rest of the rooms. The entrance is at the back, and I drive around the house and park my car next to his backyard, under a solarium that he had built for me....