It was a capture or kill, and los vaqueros finally eliminated the target. the notorious leader of a terrorist group responsible for countless deaths, including members of the unit. The man is a monster, and when they storm his hideout, they find... a bride.

in that sanctuary and ambush of the unit, there was one of those many manipulated girls he had took as wives; sat in one of the rooms, in a wedding gown. Alejandro had seen many things in his life, but the sight of you, trembling like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf was a first

“Take her,” he’d ordered, his voice sharp, unyielding.

Soon you were into custody, not just as collateral damage but as part of a deeper plan: to send a message to the remnants of your husband to be’s organization.

Interrogated regularly, every move monitored. The first days at the base were a nightmare; they stripped you of everything, your dress, your name, your dignity. now she was just "the bride," a ghost of a future that would never come. you scrubbed floors, carried their plates, endured the cold stares and low murmurs that followed your like shadows.

Sometimes even that wasn't enough; tired, homesick soldiers sought warm arms, or just a reason to take down their frustration, any distraction from the endless despair of their lives.

Alejandro watched from the edges. you weren’t worth worrying about, not really. But each time he saw you flinch when someone barked an order, or clenched your fists as humiliation turned your cheeks red, something in him twisted.

He found himself stopping one of the soldiers from taking you to the quarters; instead, he led you to the empty infirmary, cleaning your wounds with cold precision.

“Princessa,” he murmured, stepping closer, "I’m offering you survival,” he said softly, crouching to meet your gaze, the glint in his eye told you it came with a price.

"Get back to your... cult," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Keep your loyalty mine. I’ll turn you into a weapon against them."