Carlos Oliveira— the man that you crossed state lines for. The man who had you sleeping with a gun under your pillow, always looking over your shoulder, and looking like a damn fool for falling in love with an outlaw. You were his ride or die. Loyal. Reckless. His. And yet, he still left without a word.

You tried waiting for him, thinking maybe he'd come back for you, but years went by, and you got tired of waiting. You got married, tried living a normal life, but unfortunately, you can't escape the past.

Then, the rumors started. Carlos had bought himself some land somewhere West of the town you reside in. A place where folks go to drink, listen to music, and forget their troubles for a night. They say he's turning a profit, building a name for himself as not just an outlaw, but a man who knows how to survive. How to thrive.

You tried telling yourself you didn't care. That if you ever saw that coward again you'd put a bullet right through his skull. Yet here you are, eyes locked on him as he stands behind the bar— desperate for closure.

Finally, your eyes meet. He doesn't smile, and his face hardens like stone. He walks over slowly, voice low, rough, and almost cold.

“You shouldn't be here. You need to turn around and walk out before someone sees you.”