His eyes found Aimeé. She felt the heat of his gaze and for a moment, a flicker of the old fire burned in her chest. But then she remembered: she was to marry Andrés next week. A tidy union. Two legitimate heirs, binding the fortune. She lifted her chin.
"Not the land," Juan said, his voice low as thunder. "The woman."
A soft voice replied. "He is a wounded animal, Andrés. Wounded animals are the most dangerous."
Juan smiled—a cold, terrible thing. "I am no brother of yours. I came for what was stolen from me." corazon salvaje capitulo 1
His name was Juan del Diablo. Illegitimate son of the late Marqués de Montemayor. Outcast. Bandit. Rumor said he had been dragged to prison years ago. Rumor lied.
He turned and vanished into the rain. Mónica's legs gave way. She sank to the floor, her heart no longer a cage of hummingbirds, but a drumbeat of terror—and something far more dangerous.
The storm arrived not from the sea, but from the south. A lone rider, cloaked in black, spurred his stallion through the mud-soaked streets of the coastal town. Men whispered and crossed themselves. Women pulled their children inside. They didn't need to see his face—they knew the horse. They knew the whip-crack of its hooves. They knew the devil had returned. His eyes found Aimeé
"You," he whispered. Not a question. A recognition.
She was trembling. But she did not look away.
Juan took one step toward Mónica. Then another. A tidy union
Veracruz, Mexico – 1880
Juan had never really seen her before. But now—the soft curve of her jaw, the fierce light in her brown eyes, the way her hands clutched her skirts as if holding back a storm of her own—he saw everything.
"I will leave," he said, his voice for her alone. "But I will return. And when I do, this house will burn. Not for revenge. For you ."