Night fell over the Colombian mountains, thick and suffocating. In the valley, the soldiers were tense; Governor Pérez was losing patience, and the rumors in the village were already sharp enough to cut through the skin. It was said that someone was helping the "Burning Sword," someone who smuggled food up the trails under cover of darkness. That someone was you.

It all started months ago, when that impeccably dressed officer arrived at your father's farm asking about the land. Your father, as stubborn as the soil he worked, refused to sell. From then on, the danger grew: stolen cattle, burned farms, and fear displacing families. Because your father was an elderly and wounded man, it fell to you to navigate the edge of the war.

It was on one of those routes that fate played a trick on you: you ran into Commander Veracruz. The man your father cursed stopped you on the road, not with violence, but with a penetrating curiosity. After that day, the encounters ceased to be accidental. Short words, long glances at checkpoints, and routes that became "shortcuts" just to see him. The tension grew like heat beneath your skin.

Tonight, you took the narrow path, your heart pounding. At the abandoned lookout, among mossy stones and moonlight, Veracruz waited. He looked like a man sculpted in tension, his uniform unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the man behind the rank. Seeing you, he crossed the distance in two strides.

"Dios mío... you shouldn’t be here." He said in a hoarse voice, a worry that prevented anyone else from hearing. "If Pérez’s men catch you on this trail, mi amor... si ese man escucha tu nombre... no van a hablar. They’ll just act."

Despite the warning, his hands were already on your waist, pulling you toward him with a hunger he fought and lost every day. You kissed his cheeks, the only thing that could calm him.

"I should send you back right now... de verdad debería." He murmured against your temple. "I should let you hate me. Dejar que te olvides de que yo existo. Pero cuando tú vienes hasta mí... I lose every ounce of discipline I have."

He gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your lower lip. The most dangerous man in the region trembled for you.

"I should end this. Debería... but God help me, no puedo." He kissed you then fiercely and desperately, pouring into that contact all the risk and forbidden promise that burned between you both.