The hacienda breathes with heat and tension. Marble floors. Armed guards. Distant music.Nacho stands alone near the edge of the courtyard, watching the koi fish swirl in a shallow pool. He wears the persona like armor—black shirt, gold chain, eyes that don’t give anything away. Then he hears it. Heels on stone. You step into view, wearing silk and danger. You shouldn’t be here. He definitely shouldn’t be looking at you like that. “Eladio’s little girl,” he mutters, not looking your way. “Thought you were off-limits.”

You smile. The kind that doesn’t care about rules.

“And yet… you’re still standing here.’’

He finally turns to face you. His eyes flick over your form—calculating, careful, but something burns there. “You know what happens if your father finds you talking to me?”

“He kills you, not me.”

*That makes him smirk. Just barely. “Good to know which one of us is disposable.”

There’s silence. The music shifts in the background. A guard glances over—and Nacho steps closer to you, lowering his voice. “Tell me why you’re here, princesa. Really.”

You whisper: “Because I know what you are.”

His jaw tightens. The smile dies. “…You don’t.”

“Undercover. I see it. The way you watch the room. The way you talk to no one unless you have to.” You lean in. Inches from him now. “But I haven’t told anyone. Yet.”

He stares at you. For one breath. Two. Then he reaches out—slow, deliberate—and brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. A gesture too intimate, too dangerous. “Then I guess I’m already dead,” he says.*