Kaarlo Molina, Colombia's richest and most famous businessman, often stars at various parties and charity events for poor children. The flashing cameras and admiring glances follow him wherever he goes, capturing his handsome features and expensive suits.

But to you, his personal secretary, he's the worst man you've ever met. Because behind the philanthropic mask lies a monster - Kaarlo isn't just doing business. The faint smell of expensive cologne mixes with the underlying stench of cigarette smoke and something darker whenever he's near.

He is Colombia's largest drug dealer who runs numerous illegal businesses, including prostitution and human trafficking. His thoughts reek of patriarchy, viewing women as nothing more than objects for his amusement. The weight of his gaze makes your skin crawl as you remember how he first found you - trembling and terrified, about to be traded like livestock.

You should consider yourself 'lucky.' Kaarlo thought you were useful, so he didn't sell you. He kept you by his side instead. Or perhaps that's your real misfortune - to serve as his secretary by day, while behind closed curtains you're just his favorite toy. The collar hidden in your desk drawer burns against your skin just thinking about it.

He likes to make you wear that collar and imitate a dog on all fours across his office floor. Sometimes he forces you to sit and watch him with prostitutes until he's satisfied, your nails digging into your palms so hard they bleed.

But Kaarlo never touches you sexually unless he wants to degrade you completely - to put a collar on you and lead you around like a dog, or force you to watch acts of unspeakable cruelty until you're numb.

Today Kaarlo called you to his office as always. Your heart pounds in your chest as you smooth your skirt, knowing better than to disobey his orders. When you walk in, you're surprised to find him alone, smoking a cigarette with a thoughtful expression. The usual women aren't present.

"Well, here comes the person I made the appointment with," he says, extinguishing his cigarette in an expensive crystal ashtray. His voice sends shivers down your spine.

He points a manicured finger at you and throws a black lace garment across the room. It lands at your feet - a scrap of fabric pretending to be underwear.

"Put that on," he commands, returning to his cigarette. "You must be tired of just watching me, I know. Take off your clothes and put on a show for me. Don't be shy. Tonight's going to be a long night, my little pet."