Aliento Ardiente

Chapter One: Teadora

"The dead do not die twice…", words my uncle Ernest once said to me, words I didn’t understand then. But over time, their meaning seeped in, until I lived them, until they became my truth.

My heart, my soul, my very being died one April night with Maelo, in a hospital filled with pale green and white, and the sound of the heart monitor jumping like a silent scream. Fear struck my cheeks like a sudden slap. Since that day, every month feels like April, and bitterness lingers even in the air. No matter how bright the sun shines, it gives me no warmth—I am covered in ice, and there is no escape.

I walk with melting steps toward my office, the office that bears my name: Teadora Lias, architect at Royce Holdings, or as the employees sarcastically call me, "The Ice Princess." Every achievement feels meaningless; every step grants no sense of life.

Hana, my colleague, waits at the door: “Finally, you’re here, Aya… Mark has been looking for you since morning. Apparently, there’s something important.”

I glance at her calmly, nodding that I’m coming. She wears her secretary outfit, sharp and provocative, always seeking wealthy men—but I know there’s more to her, something buried beneath circumstances that force her into desire.

We enter Mark’s office, the CEO, a man feared by all. He stands by the huge window, staring at the city silently, until he hears our steps.

"Teadora…" he finally says, his voice calm but sharp. "Have you heard about the awards gala at the end of the week?"

I nod, “Yes, I received the invitation.”

Mark gives a brief smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, then adds: "This isn’t just any gala. I want you there… everything must be perfect."

I step closer, replying coolly, “Is there a particular reason for your concern? Or do you just want me to look like the other pretty faces?”

He pauses, looking directly at me, and in that silence, the office feels hotter than any words could make it. I sense something between us, something tied by fate. Every encounter with him is a challenge; every glance carries a warning or an unspoken promise.

I sit at my desk, watching the city, the sounds of traffic filtering through the high windows, sirens declaring a life that feels unlike mine. Mark sits behind his desk, file in hand, eyes assessing me as if reading the ice that shields my heart.

"There are a few details before the gala. I want you to review these plans. Everything must be flawless."

I take the file, flipping through the pages quickly, the weight of responsibility pressing down. Even personal feelings feel trivial in comparison. With every plan, every note, I feel fate placing us on another collision course—not about what I lost, but about the secrets, desires, and power we both carry… power that can make everything possible—or destroy it.

I close my laptop, giving Mark a final glance, at the strength in his presence, at the unspoken tension filling the air between us. Before leaving the office, I take a deep breath and one last look at the city below, knowing every step brings me closer to a confrontation that could change the rules of the game, with a man fate seems determined to place in my path…

Then I walk out, steady steps, heading toward the preparation hall, toward the final week before the gala, before the moment when everything will be revealed…

New Mexico – Cartel Summit

In the heart of Albuquerque, New Mexico, a glass skyscraper towered over the red-hued city, hosting a cartel meeting high above the streets. The hall was vast, sunlight reflecting off the polished floors, yet the air inside was colder than any wind outside.

At the central table sat regional bosses and their men, each surrounded by bodyguards, each face marked by years of shadows, blood, and betrayal. Every move here was calculated, every gesture observed, every word weighed.

And then he entered: Don Chavez Ruiz. A true Mexican man, approximately 6’5”, dark-skinned, with a signature Douglas mustache, deep black eyes, and a dimple on his right cheek like a scar from the past. Tattoos covered his entire body and the bones of his hands, his head shaved clean. A predator in human form. The first deputy to cartel leader Salvador Chapo, feared by all, whose silence alone was more dangerous than any overt threat.

He took his seat at the head of the table, eyes sharp, a thin smile on his lips that revealed nothing.

“We are here because of rumors…” one of the bosses began, voice low but tense. “Rumors of betrayal from one of the parties. Some say the next strike may come from Bratva…”

A subordinate trembled, but Chavez raised his hand, silencing everyone. His quietude weighed on the room; a mere tilt of his head or a glance could freeze any discussion.

“Yes… betrayal,” he said, calm yet lethal. “But until we know the truth, no one moves without orders. Every step is calculated. Any mistake… will be fatal.”

Tension was palpable; the heavy air thick with suspicion. Each leader exchanged sharp glances, trying to read the intent in the others’ eyes. Danger was not only in words—it was in silence, in stares, in the sense that any moment could erupt into an ambush.

After the meeting, Chavez sat with his closest men, Raul and Jesus, around a table littered with maps and files. The city sounds drifted in from the high windows, distant and irrelevant. Everything that mattered now moved in the shadows.

“It’s time to act carefully,” he said, low but edged with threat. “Bratva is watching. One wrong move… and it ends in blood.”

Raul nodded, “Yes, Don… but what about the rumors of betrayal? We need to know the truth before any action.”

Chavez gave a short smile, eyes unreadable. “We don’t act on rumors. Every move is calculated. Every man here knows his place. Every action must follow the plan.”

He turned to Jesus, the tall, strong man, “The awards gala in New York is not just a celebration. Every leader, every player, will be there. Our presence will determine alliances, reveal who can be trusted, and who is looking to rebel. This event is the starting point for everything… every wrong step will be exposed.”

Jesus nodded slowly, grasping the gravity of the responsibility. “We’ll be ready… all details are set—security, routes, everything calculated.”

Chavez raised his hand, gesturing toward the upper-level maps. “Remember… a man’s power is not measured by what he holds in his hand, but by what he knows about his enemy before they move. Everything in New York… must be under our control. The gala… more important than any street battle. Anyone thinking of betrayal… will learn punishment begins before they even know they’re in danger.”

The hall went silent. The internal buzz ceased. The men realized the weight of the threat. Every word, every pause, every gesture meticulously calculated. What some saw as a mere social occasion would be a test of strength, control, and perhaps survival.

As Chavez left the hall, heading to the waiting helicopter, the wind hit his face, but he did not flinch. Every move was calculated, every second under control. As the helicopter lifted above the city, heading toward New York, his mind already turned to plans there. The upcoming awards gala would be the event that puts everyone under scrutiny, revealing who can be trusted and who would dare betray.