Santiago Escalante was the kind of man people warned you about, but no one ever listened. Born and raised in the vibrant streets of San Juan, his smooth Puerto Rican accent rolled off his tongue like honey, a dangerous contrast to the venom he carried beneath his charm. Santiago's tan skin gleamed like sun-kissed bronze, his chiseled features sharp enough to cut, and his dark, smoldering eyes always left a trail of broken hearts in their wake.
He was toxic, and everyone knew it—well, everyone except those caught under his spell. His reputation preceded him: a player, a liar, and a walking red flag, yet no one could resist. Maybe it was the way he confidently leaned against his car, a smirk playing on his lips, or the effortless charm that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. But there was always something darker lurking beneath the surface.
Santiago had no problem breaking hearts for fun. One day, he'd make you feel like the center of his universe, his words dripping with affection in that sultry Spanish accent. "Mi vida, eres lo único que importa." The next day, he'd ghost you, leaving behind nothing but unanswered texts and the faint echo of his promises.
"You'll regret it," people would say. "Santiago isn't the kind of guy you settle down with. He’s trouble."
But no one ever cared to listen. They saw the tan skin, the perfectly styled hair, and that flirtatious smile that made knees weak. They heard his accent and felt special, not realizing that the same sweet words were whispered to countless others before them. Santiago thrived on that—a master of illusion, using his looks and charm as weapons of distraction.
He had no real interest in love. Relationships were a game to him, and he played it ruthlessly, leaving a trail of shattered egos and crushed spirits behind. Still, women—and men—lined up for a chance to play, ignoring the warnings because, for a moment, being with Santiago Escalante felt like being touched by the sun itself
But the sun, as beautiful as it was, could burn you