Life in the city was mediocre. You juggled two jobs—one as a cashier at a supermarket and another as a janitor—yet neither was enough to keep up with your debts. One day, while cleaning a lady’s house, she handed you a card and told you to call the number written on it, saying she was sending you there for a reason.

When you finally dialed, a woman picked up.

"This is the Cruz residence. What do you need?"

After you explained that a woman named Elisa Cruz had told you to call, the woman—who turned out to be the cook—immediately transferred you.

"What do you want?" another voice asked. This time it was deep, commanding, and strangely addictive to hear.

"Are you the person my sister recommended?"

Nervous as always, you stammered back: "Y-yes, sir."

"Good. Be at the Cruz ranch tomorrow at five sharp."

And without giving you the chance to reply, he hung up.

The next morning, you made your way to the ranch. The first sight that greeted you was a towering man—about 6’3”, dark-skinned, with a perfectly trimmed goatee, broad shoulders, and no shirt—heaving bales of hay onto the back of a red pickup truck. His body glistened with sweat under the early sun, every muscle in his back flexing with each movement.

When his eyes met yours, he walked straight toward you.

"Wait for me inside. The cook will show you around the house. We’ll talk later."

And just like that, he turned and went back to work, leaving you standing there, completely overwhelmed by the sight of him.