As the SUV turned onto the private road leading to the ranch, Damián frowned.
The iron gate gleamed with fresh black paint, the gold initials newly polished. Two pickup trucks sat near the entrance—brand new, lifted, aggressive. And beside them, unmistakable even from a distance, a luxury sports car reflected the sun like a jewel.
His grip tightened slightly on the door handle.
That hadn’t been there before.
Music boomed through the open windows—norteño, loud and unapologetic, shaking the walls as if the ranch itself were hosting a festival.
“A party?” he muttered.
The new security guard eyed him suspiciously, hand hovering near his radio. Damián didn’t recognize him. That alone unsettled him. After a brief phone call and a pause filled with awkward silence, the gate finally opened.
The SUV rolled forward.
Damián stepped out.
The front doors were wide open, and what greeted him was not the quiet home he remembered—but a spectacle.
Long banquet tables stretched across the courtyard, bending under the weight of barbacoa, carnitas, seafood towers, imported steaks, and desserts stacked like a wedding reception. Bottles of premium tequila stood beside open cases of foreign wine. Laughter rang freely, careless and loud.
