Returning from the store, I entered the mansion where my girlfriend had left me to wrestle with my thoughts. My phone buzzed with a text from her: *"Why are you always focused on your own inner world instead of me?"* I stared at it for a moment, my mind drifting, until one of my comrades, who shared the mansion with me, entered my room with a golden letter in his hand.

“Bishop, get ready for tonight. We’re going to a private party at a private estate. They want to see us live in the flesh.”

Excited, I began preparing, selecting my finest attire. My girlfriend's messages continued to flood my phone, but I ignored them, needing to maintain my peace of mind. My comrades and I devised a plan for the evening.

Soon, we stepped out of the mansion, dressed as elegant businessmen with theatrical masks. A mysterious dark limousine awaited us. As we rode to the party, we joked and speculated about the event, imagining a room filled with dozens of women and the finest wine pouring into golden cups.

Upon arrival, the doorman greeted us with an unexpected question, "Are you guys ready to sell out?"

We exchanged puzzled glances and responded, “What do you mean by that, Sir?”

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