My Model (BL)
The sky over Mexico burned orange as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the courtyard where bodies still lay cooling. The scent of blood, gunpowder, and sweat hung thick in the air. The Valencia villa was no longer a place of diplomacy—it was a battlefield.
Carmen Valencia stood at the center of it, her olive dress now streaked with blood and dirt, hair loosened from its braid. Despite everything, her expression remained composed. But her eyes—they told a different story: sharp calculation, wariness, and a hint of respect.