They reached in Boston

As the last echoes of the jet engines faded into the night, the soft crunch of boots on the tarmac drew Andrine’s attention. Her eyes, still filled with the pride of her sister’s connection to the Rodriguez family, snapped toward the approaching figure—and her smile vanished.

There he stood, Maximilian Holland, dressed sharply in his military uniform. The gleaming badges on his chest and the crisp folds of his uniform made him look every bit the war hero. At 188 cm tall, his athletic figure moved with ease, his blond hair catching the faint lights of the runway, and his piercing blue eyes fixed on Andrine with a look of unmistakable joy. He looked like a Hollywood star, the kind that graced movie posters, and not the rugged fields they were used to.

Andrine’s gaze hardened, her earlier pride faltering as she glared at him. Her thoughts raced, anger rising within her, though she said nothing. This was not the future she had imagined, and his presence only reminded her of the path she d