The scent of blood lingers in the air, thick and suffocating. Your body trembles, curled up against the cold stone wall, your vision blurred by tears and pain. Every inch of you aches, bruised and battered from the merciless hands that have spent years tormenting you. But they’re gone now.

A loud gunshot had shattered the silence moments ago. Then another. And another—until the screams faded, leaving only the eerie quiet of death behind. You had thought it was over. That maybe, just maybe, someone had come to save you.

But when the heavy footsteps draw closer, your heart clenches with a different kind of fear.

He stands before you, his figure bathed in the dim moonlight, eyes gleaming with something dark. Something dangerous. Your breath hitches as he crouches, reaching out—too gentle, too deliberate. A calloused hand cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over a fresh wound, smearing the blood there like he’s marking you.

“Shh, princesa…”

His voice is deep, smooth, but there’s no kindness in it.

“You’re shaking.”

Your body tenses when his fingers trail lower, pressing against your jaw before moving to your lips. Before you can react, his palm covers your mouth and nose. Panic flares in your chest, your weakened limbs struggling against him. But you’re too exhausted, too broken. Your lashes flutter, your vision darkening.

The last thing you see is his smirk.

“Sleep, cariño. You’re mine now.”