Working as a police officer in Mexico

Such an obvious rejection could certainly be discerned by Sandra Cisneros.

But this woman acted as if she didn't understand and instead deliberately launched an offensive towards Victor.

It made him a bit uncomfortable.

It wasn't that he didn't like women, he just didn't want just any bad luck to come his way, especially not from such a shrewd woman. To succeed, one must absolutely keep their pants buckled.

How many men have died because of this?

Business is business, don't mix it with feelings.

Most importantly, Victor wanted to maintain this persona to attract the female journalist, Belsaria Ramsfield.

A hero narcotics officer, immensely powerful in Mexico, yet also chaste and a Nobel Peace Prize winner—how do you like that for a persona? Find your next read on empire

A man's body can sometimes be a bargaining chip.

Just don't end up like Martin Luther King, who slept with three women before he died and led an extremely chaotic private life. It's rumored he had an odd fetish—liking to eat feces?!

Of course, that's just a rumor, who knows.

Right.

Imagine if my autobiography "The Struggle of Life" could win the Nobel Prize in Literature—wouldn't that be explosive?

But that's just a thought, the name is too stylish.

"Director, the American guests have finished touring the Drug Prohibition Museum and have arrived at the city hall. The banquet is ready," the secretary quickly approached Victor and said.

Already struggling under Sandra Cisneros's "attack," he chuckled and said to her, "Let's dine first, we can discuss the Nobel Prize another time."

Sandra obediently nodded, "Of course, whenever you need, I'm always here. Sorry, uh, I have to visit the restroom first."

Victor nodded and made a gesture indicating she was free to go, watching her hips sway as she left. Suddenly, he got the urge to use the Golden Finger to check her out.

He didn't like what he saw and his eyes involuntarily narrowed.

"Keep a close eye on this woman. Wherever she's been going recently, I want someone on her tail!"

This took Casare by surprise. "Boss, do you suspect she's up to something?"

"Remember, when a woman wants to sleep with you for no reason, it's not because she fancies your 10 centimeters; it's always about what you can offer her."

"Perhaps it's love at first sight?"

"Do you believe that?" Victor countered, "All love at first sight is nothing more than lust emerging after weighing pros and cons. Even if you want to sleep with her, it won't hurt to check her out thoroughly," Victor said, patting his shoulder with a meaningful tone.

"Never, ever, ever, ever trust someone who approaches you without reason."

After he finished speaking, he walked toward the banquet hall with a serious expression.

Hmm...

How should I put it?

An external "intelligence facilitator!"

Mainly serving about 6 intelligence agencies worldwide, she recently accepted an assignment from the CIA to get close to Victor and become his woman, then obtain more information from him.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Thankfully for the Golden Finger, otherwise, he would've thought someone truly lusted for him.

Ah... women are natural actors, fooling a man is like turning the palm of one's hand.

Casare half-understood after hearing Victor's words, nodding his head, while Jason Bourne glanced at him, "Did you get that?"

"Of course!"

"Boss's message is clear, don't trust others, but you can make others trust you, negotiate the value of use before having sex."

"Is that your reason for soliciting prostitutes?" Jason Bourne raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just rescuing fallen women. You better think about how to thoroughly investigate that female writer's background."

"Under the watchful eyes of the Mexico news department, no one can hide!"

...

Colombia. Bogota.

Inside Blanco's mansion.

Ethan Hunt looked at the two burly men in front of him, raised an eyebrow, and extended his hand politely, "Are you the men Pablo sent to help me take down Casare Gonzalez?"

The burly men had scorpions tattooed on their faces, looking intimidating. Facing his outstretched hand, one with hair hesitated before shaking it, "Benjamin."

The bald one's expression was gloomy, and he acted as if he hadn't even seen Ethan's hand, "Elvis."

After saying his name, he paused, then suddenly asked, "Are you the pretty boy Blanco keeps around?"

"Elvis!" Benjamin frowned and called out in a low voice.

That question was practically a slap in the face.

Which man doesn't need face?

Ethan Hunt narrowed his eyes and withdrew his hand, "I'm Blanco's husband, not some pretty boy, sir."

"Husband?" Elvis scoffed, but his companion tugged at him, and Elvis glanced at Benjamin, who emphatically winked at him, forcing him to swallow his words.

He slumped into the sofa.

"It's just the way he is," Benjamin explained.

Ethan Hunt smiled and nodded, "I understand, please take a seat."

But he already marked "1" in his mind for them.

After sitting down, he politely offered cigarettes to both men. Benjamin accepted gracefully, while Elvis ignored the offer, taking out his own cigarettes to smoke, lighting up and saying sarcastically, "Sorry, I only like to smoke my own, I can't get used to smoking pretty boys' cigarettes."

2!

He mentally added another number.

"Pablo sent us to follow your plan, do you have one?" Benjamin said, trying to defuse the awkward atmosphere.

Ethan Hunt nodded, his voice somber, "Blanco is dead, she was my dearest love, I must have revenge. Thank you very much for your help..."