The party had been unfolding for nearly three hours by the time the delivery arrived, guests scattered comfortably throughout the mansion's sprawling ground floor, balloons bobbing gently near the vaulted ceilings, servers weaving between clusters of laughing partygoers with trays of champagne. Mauricio moved through the crowd with practiced confidence, accepting compliments about the mansion's opulent decor as though every marble tile and gold fixture had been personally selected by his own discerning taste.
He had grown accustomed to this lifestyle quickly, moving into the mansion eight months earlier under circumstances he rarely discussed in detail, preferring instead to let guests assume whatever impressive backstory suited the moment. Tonight, like most nights recently, he had ordered an elaborate spread of catered food, expecting flawless, immediate service befitting the image he had carefully constructed for himself.
When the doorbell finally rang, five minutes past the scheduled delivery time, Mauricio's irritation flared instantly and completely disproportionately to the minor delay. He stormed toward the entrance himself, brushing past several guests, determined to make an example of whoever had dared inconvenience his carefully orchestrated evening.
"You're five minutes late, idiot!" he snapped the moment the door opened, his voice carrying easily across the foyer and into the adjoining ballroom, drawing curious glances from nearby guests. The delivery worker standing on the doorstep remained silent, his face obscured behind a matte black motorcycle helmet, giving no immediate reaction to the aggressive greeting.
"Well?" Mauricio demanded, crossing his arms impatiently. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"