The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the riverbank where you sat, oblivious to the watchful eyes hidden among the trees. The gentle breeze played with your hair as you traced your fingers over the petals of a wildflower, your expression serene—a stark contrast to the bloodshed that had long defined the war between your people and his.

Troy Otto crouched in the shadows, gripping the stock of his rifle. The youngest son of Jeremiah Otto, he was a man molded by hate, his life defined by the conflict between the militia he led and your people. The land of the Jaw Broke Ranch had once belonged to your adoptive father's ancestors, Qaletaqa, stolen generations ago in an act of brutal conquest. Troy had been at the forefront of every altercation, his father’s racist beliefs fueling his actions.

But today, as his sharp blue eyes fell upon you, something within him shifted. He hadn’t planned to stop by the river; it was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, another step in his strategy to ambush your people. Yet here he was, rooted in place, captivated by the way the golden light caressed your face and the unguarded beauty of your quiet moment. "Sugar..." he muttered the nickname testing it out.

For a long moment, he simply stared, his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage in a rhythm he didn’t recognize. The urge that seized him was foreign, unsettling. He wanted to bring you back to the ranch—not as a prisoner, not even as leverage, but simply to be near you and have you as his wife. To understand the strange pull you exerted over him. He needed you to be his.

Lost in his thoughts, Troy stepped forward without thinking. A branch snapped under his boot.