The night stretched over Madrid like a veil of black velvet. The street lamps cast a golden light that reflected on the wet cobblestones. A gentle breeze slipped through the alleys, carrying with it the scent of night flowers. The sky, heavy with clouds, seemed to announce a secret that only lovers could hear. And in this suspended atmosphere, a love story had just begun.
Isabella Herrera had just married the man she loved more than anything: Miguel Herrera. With a smile on his lips, he carried her in his arms to cross the threshold of their home. They kissed tenderly, then Miguel went to get ready, while Isabella, despite her lack of experience in cooking, decided to offer him a meal made with her own hands.
That evening, their first night as husband and wife, she busied herself in the kitchen. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and soon the storm made the walls of the house tremble. The power suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness. Isabella took a torch and, in a soft voice, called out:
— Miguel, I cooked with all my love.
Miguel replied laughing:
— Hmmm… it smells good, doesn't it?
— Doesn't it? she said with a smile.
— I hope it's a secret recipe from Nona.
— Ohhh, you're teasing me! protested Isabella, crossing her arms. It's not gourmet cooking, but I made it with love. I sang three songs to the pot, just like Mariam told me to do. Three, not two or one, but three!
Miguel approached, looked at her tenderly, and said:
— Come here, sit down, darling. We're going to have dinner, okay?
Suddenly, something fell to the floor. Miguel jumped:
— Oh, what's that? he said, picking up the object.
Isabella paled:
— I'm afraid of losing my wedding ring… it's very wide.
Miguel took her hand, looked at her gently, and whispered:
— And you have very slender fingers.
He placed a delicate kiss on her hand, sealing this moment of simple and sincere love.
Miguel observed his wife's delicate hand with kindness and murmured:
— I shouldn't have taken it…
Isabella smiled softly:
— But if you hadn't taken it, we wouldn't have had the wedding rings.
He nodded, caressing her slender fingers:
— I'll have it adjusted tomorrow, okay?
— Okay, she replied tenderly.
Miguel straightened up and declared joyfully:
— So now, let's eat!
They sat at the table. But suddenly, the thunder roared so loudly that the front door slammed open abruptly. Isabella jumped, and both stood up to see. Miguel closed the door, saying:
— There must be a storm… I hope it will pass, otherwise there will be one of those rains.
They sat back down. Isabella served her husband and sat beside him. Miguel sniffed the dish with an amused smile:
— It looks good.
— You're going to enjoy it, she replied enthusiastically.
He tasted it, then laughed softly:
— Hummm… My love, I sincerely love you, but you really don't have much talent when it comes to cooking.
Isabella tasted it in turn and burst out laughing:
— Oh yes! I put a little too much salt… well, actually a lot too much!
Miguel took her hand and said warmly:
— I'll teach you how to cook. I grew up alone, so I know how to do it.
He stood up, and Isabella did the same, her eyes shining:
— You cook like my father… but for the farm work, I won't disappoint you.
Miguel looked at her proudly:
— Of course. I saw how you treated the animals on your father's ranch.
Isabella held out both hands, which he took gently. She whispered with conviction:
— You and I, we're going to make Esperanza the best cattle ranch in the whole region.
Miguel looked at her with eyes shining with love:
— You're right… I love you.
— I love you too, she replied with a shy smile.
They kissed, first tenderly, then more passionately. Isabella laughed softly:
— Well, let's make good food, because that was way too salty.
But their lips met again, this time more intensely. Miguel lifted her in his arms, took her to their bedroom, and laid her on the bed with infinite delicacy. Their kisses became deeper, more passionate, as if the world around them no longer existed.
In the flickering light of the torch, they discovered each other with modesty and tenderness. For Isabella, it was the first time: she gave herself to him, her heart beating with both fear and happiness. Miguel reassured her with his gestures, his looks, the warmth of his hands. Their union was filled with passion, but also gentleness, like a promise of eternity.
After this suspended moment, Miguel took his wife's hand, brought it to his lips, and said with emotion:
— I'm so happy.
— Me too, darling, she replied, her eyes shining with tears of joy.
They kissed again, and suddenly, the electricity came back, illuminating the room. Isabella got up gently:
— I'm going to take a bath to freshen up.
— Okay, I'll join you soon, said Miguel, looking at her with a tender smile, his eyes unable to take their eyes off her.
Suddenly, Miguel heard disturbing noises outside: horses galloping in the night, dogs barking furiously, and pigs stirring in their pen. The silence of the countryside had just been broken by a threatening tumult.
He frowned and said to Isabella:
— Stay here, I'll see what's going on.
But she didn't listen because of the sound of water hitting the floor in the shower.
Two cars stopped abruptly in front of the house. The doors slammed, and several men in hoods got out. One of them, bigger than the others, stepped forward and shouted in a harsh voice:
— Let me take care of this fool!
It was Hugo Salazar, Ramiro Mendoza's loyal right-hand man.
Miguel bravely stepped out, standing tall in front of them. He said firmly:
— What do you want?
Hugo approached, a cruel smile on his lips:
— Heeey… easy. You're going to sell your lands today.
Miguel suddenly said: Leave, or…
He pulled out a machete that glittered under the lightning.
The men behind him started laughing, sure of their superiority. Hugo brandished the weapon and added:
— Or what? You're all going to face us?
Miguel, his eyes burning with determination, did not back down. He grabbed Hugo's hand to stop the blade from cutting him. In a quick and courageous gesture, he finally tore the weapon away and threw it to the ground.
A tense silence settled. The masked men exchanged surprised looks. Miguel took a step forward, his face lit by the lightning, and said in a deep voice:
— I will not be intimidated. You are on my land, and I will defend it.
The rain fell heavily on Madrid, pounding the roofs and windows of the house. The lightning occasionally illuminated the courtyard, revealing the hooded figures surrounding Miguel. The ground was already muddy, and every step sank into the soaked earth.
Isabella continued to shower, unaware of the chaos unfolding outside. Meanwhile, Miguel was surrounded by Ramiro's men. They beat him relentlessly until blood ran down his face. They handed him papers, demanding he sign over his land. But Miguel, despite the pain, refused courageously.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Ramiro, who had stayed in the background, had just shot him in the leg. Miguel screamed in pain. That cry tore through the night and reached Isabella, who stopped her shower, worried. She first whispered weakly:
— Miguel… Miguel…
Then, hearing a second shot, she screamed with all her strength:
— Miguel!
She rushed out, her dress soaked, her hair dripping. In front of her, horror: Miguel, on his knees, begged for his life but proudly repeated:
— I will never give up my land for anything in the world!
Ramiro raised his weapon and shot him in the heart. Miguel collapsed. Isabella screamed:
— Miguel! No! Miguel!
She rushed to him, took his body in her arms, her tears mixing with the rain.
— Please, my love, don't die…
In a last breath, Miguel whispered:
— Run…
Then his eyes closed.
Ramiro slowly approached, his face hidden by a hood. He stared at Isabella, and in his gaze, there was a dark, unhealthy gleam. Ramiro's men brutally grabbed her. She was defenseless, broken by the loss of her husband.
Under the pouring rain, Isabella, broken by Miguel's death, was torn from her husband's arms by Ramiro's men. Soaked, desperate, she had no strength left to defend herself. Ramiro, hidden under his hood, isolated her in the forest.
There, in the shadow of the trees and the crash of the storm, he committed the most vile act. Isabella was raped, her dignity trampled, her innocence torn away. The rain fell as if to cover her screams, but nothing could erase the horror of that moment.
When Ramiro had committed his crime, he coldly ordered his men:
— Throw her into the river. As if she were just a burden to be eliminated.
But what he didn't know was that Isabella would survive. And from that nightmare night would be born a new woman, driven by a single flame: vengeance.