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Anna Helena Mondego Fuentabella
The Surrender She Never Chose
The Boy she called Gabriel
The Dream
I was eight when the dreams began.
Night after night, I would wake up shaking, drenched in cold sweat, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break free from my chest.
In the dream, there was always a little boy—hiding in a closet, his face scraped, bruises dark on his arms, trembling as he tried to hold his breath.
And outside… the stepfather’s voice, slurred with rage, a baseball bat clenched tight in his fists, ready to strike like a monster in the dark.
Every time I reached out for that boy, every time I tried to grab his hand, to pull him away to safety… I woke up.
Always just before I could touch him. Always just before he could see me.
He never saw me, but sometimes—I swear—I felt he could hear me.
That somehow, he knew I was there, in the shadows. But the moment his eyes turned toward me, the moment he searched for someone to save him… I woke up. Left alone in the dark. Crying. Helpless.
His pain, her agony
They sent me away to the monastery, to the care of my aunt, a nun, hoping faith and quiet would heal what was broken inside me. I thought maybe the prayers would chase the ghosts away, that silence could mend the cracks.
But no. Beneath the prayers, inside the stillness of the convent walls, the boy stayed. The nightmares stayed. Until one day, I simply… accepted him. A ghost I embraced through long, aching nights.
And then I grew up. I learned to smile with a fractured heart, to laugh even when my eyes carried the weight of all I’d lost.
And then, one day, when I least expected it—he came.
I met him. The man who would shatter and heal me in the same breath. I couldn’t understand it, but the pull was there—sharp, sweet, aching. It was as if I’d been searching for him my entire life.
And when I stood before him, my soul whispered, it’s you.
Anna Helena's age when it all began...
The Familiarity
Strange, how familiar he felt.
Strange, how my chest ached when he was near, how my breath caught at the sound of his voice.
Strange, that the man my brother called enemy… felt like the one my heart had been waiting for in the dark.
He was bold. Fearless. A Las Águilas prized agent, bowing to no one—not even the family he once served.
And me? I was the girl always protected, always hidden from danger… yet he was the only one brave enough to come close. Not as an enemy, but as his.
And when our eyes met, for the first time, the boy in the closet wasn’t alone.
For the first time, I didn’t wake up.
And for the first time… I never wanted to wake up again.
Do you want to know the truth? I hated him. God, how I hated him.
The night he claimed me, it was never supposed to happen. It was meant to be his victory, my punishment.
You see, he was my brother's enemy—the man who tore my world apart, who came like a storm and left nothing standing.
And yet, when he touched me, when his lips crashed into mine with a hunger that shattered every wall I had built, I crumbled.
My body, my heart, every trembling part of me—they all betrayed me.
I wanted him.
I wanted the man I was raised to despise.
I wanted the man who should have been the villain of my story.
And I hated that. I hated the way his hands discovered me, the way his eyes saw through every mask I wore. I hated how my breath caught when he murmured my name, how I leaned into his touch like I had been starving for it all my life.
"Alena," he whispered against my neck—raw, rough, devastatingly tender. "You're mine."
And then—he knew. He felt the truth I had hidden from the world.
He felt the innocence I hadn’t known how to protect.
And in that moment, when he moved inside me for the first time, when he bound himself to me with no words, only breathless gasps and the fierce clutch of bodies desperate to belong—I gave in.
In the arms of her brother’s enemy
Gabriel "Hawk" Copeland
Forbidden longing
The Boy she called Gabriel
I hated how I wanted him, how the hunger inside me flared into something wild, something raw and all-consuming.
He awakened something in me. Something I never knew existed—a fire, a craving, a need that defied every reason, every rule.
And I let him take it. I let him take me. Not because I had no choice—but because my choice was already made the moment my body answered his.
I wanted to push him away. God knows, I should have.
I should have screamed, reminded myself of the blood, the war, the betrayal. But every time his mouth claimed mine, every time his hands roamed lower, I drowned deeper.
And when we crossed that last line, when he became my first and my ruin, the hate burned to ash. And all that remained was need. Raw, desperate, shattering need.
I was lost. And worse, I wanted to be lost in him.
So here we are.
This is our story.
A story of hatred turned hunger, of enemies tangled in a passion too big to contain.
And when people ask me why I stayed, why I let myself fall, why I gave myself to the one man I was supposed to despise, I tell them this:
I was his. From the very beginning. And in his arms, in his fire, in his ruin—I was finally home.
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Gabriel “Hawk” Copeland
He claimed her body. She stole his soul.
Some love stories begin with a kiss.
Theirs began with a storm, a lie, and a promise to bind her by blood.
“You trusted me,” he said. “I used that.”
Her breath caught.
“I wanted revenge.” His voice was low. “But I broke you instead.”
He gripped her hips. Her body answered him.
“Now I just want to stay inside you,” he muttered, lips grazing her jaw. “Make you forget everything else but us.”
Then he took her—bare, deep, brutal—and froze. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Alena.”
She turned away, cheeks flushed. “You could’ve warned me… before you ruined me.”
He moved—slow, raw, relentless. She cried out, not just from pain—but from something darker.
“Mine,” he growled. “Even if you hate me.”
His hips slammed into hers, primal and punishing. It wasn’t pain anymore. It was need. Soaking. Wild. Unstoppable.
“If you’re carrying me after this,” he snarled, thrusting harder, “you’re mine. By blood.”
No more words. Just his body claiming hers, deeper, rougher—like he meant to stay inside her forever.
Mine.
She hated him. But her body—wet, desperate—begged for more.
She came, hard and messy, and again. Her legs trembled. Her moans broke apart in the heat.
And still—she pulled him closer.
She didn’t want him to stop.
I never planned for this. Hell, I never even imagined it.
She was supposed to be a name, a face, a bargaining chip in a war that had already burned me to the bone. She was the enemy’s sister—the girl I should’ve hated, used, discarded.
But from the first moment I touched her, something inside me cracked open. Something raw. Something feral.
The first time I kissed her, it was supposed to break her down, remind her who had the power. But the second her lips parted under mine, when her hands fisted in my shirt, when her breath hitched like a prayer and a challenge all at once—it was me who came undone.
When I claimed her, when I felt the truth of her innocence, it ignited something I didn’t know I had.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just possession.
It was something primal. Territorial.
It was as if every nerve in my body screamed mine.
And God, the way she responded… it shattered me. The way she arched, the way she gasped my name like it was the only word she knew, the way she opened to me without even realizing what she was giving—
Beneath the scars, beneath the anger, he was already hers.
Anna Helena Mondego Fuentabella
Surrender and Rebellion
Anna Helena Mondego Fuentabella
She awakened something in me I didn’t know existed.
Hunger. Rage. Worship.
Love?
All tangled up in a knot I still can’t unravel.
Even now, I’m still standing here, asking myself: What the fuck did she do to me?
How did one girl—this girl—get under my skin so deep that I can’t breathe without her scent in my lungs? How did she break past every wall I built, tear down every line I swore I’d never cross?
When people ask me if I regret it—if I regret claiming the enemy’s sister, if I regret crossing that line—I laugh.
Because the truth is, I never stood a chance.
From the moment I touched her, from the second I saw the fire in her eyes, I was already hers.
She doesn’t even know. She thinks I bound her to me that night.
But the truth is—
She bound me first.
She was the girl inside my chest before I ever knew her name.
The shadow in my nightmares, the whisper in every silence,
the ache under my skin when the world turned too fucking dark.
Her voice—
God, I knew it before I ever touched her.
Before I ever saw her face.
It’s the only sound that cuts through the static in my head,
the only thing that makes the war inside me go still.
And now—
now she’s under me, around me, in me,
and fuck, I’m ruined.
I was born a weapon.
Built to destroy, to command, to take.
But with her, I’m just a man—
starving, shaking, desperate for the only thing
that’s ever broken me wide open.
Her.
Always her.
