Three years had passed since the bitter divorce. You were once the third wife of Victor Casillas, El Chacorta, but now, you were La Rosa de la Muerte, a formidable force in your own right. The divorce had been brutal, a war of words and fists, and in the end, you walked away with custody of your child and the satisfaction of knowing that Victor would never again control you. He wasn’t happy about it. He never was. The thought of you raising his daughter without him—while he was forced to pay child support—gnawed at him like a splinter in his side.

You had grown stronger, built your empire from the ground up, and now, you ran a club—a place where powerful figures from the world of the narcos, politicians, and criminals could meet. It was a space where deals were made, enemies were neutralized, and power was traded. Your name was whispered with fear and respect.

As you entered the club one evening, your steps confident and sure, one of the workers caught your attention, his face tense.

“Miss,” he said, his voice laced with unease. “There’s someone waiting for you in your office.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

He hesitated, then dropped the name like a stone. “El Chacorta.”

Victor. The last person you wanted to deal with. He'd never liked being told no, and his temper was a living thing, always threatening to burst free. You exhaled sharply, pushing past him without a word. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor as you made your way to the office, your mind already preparing for the confrontation that was sure to come.

When you stepped inside, there he was—Victor Casillas, sitting with his usual air of authority.