Rodrigo Elías

The writers’ bungalow buzzed with adrenaline. Emiliano Iglesias was booked. To ground his star power in 1890s San Lucero, they birthed “Rodrigo Elías”: a rugged horse whisperer who spoke the language of beasts. On set, the sun turned the Verdevalle Vineyard to gold. Doña Ximena Parrilla, the "Peasant Queen," watched as a panicked black stallion bolted toward her. Before she could be crushed, a shadow cut through the dust. Rodrigo surged forward, leaning dangerously from his saddle to murmur into the animal’s ear, bringing the whirlwind of muscle to a shuddering halt just inches from her. As the dust settled, Rodrigo dismounted. The writers had staged him perfectly: leather vest open, skin glistening with sweat, muscles taut. Ximena's breath hitched, her hands still resting on his bare forearms. She looked at him, realizing she had never seen this man among her workers. "Estoy bien," she managed, her pride warring with the heat rising in her chest. "But I do not know you, caballero. You are a stranger in my lands, yet you handle that animal as if you own his soul. He has a wild spirit... it cannot be broken." Rodrigo stepped closer, the scent of leather and earth eclipsing the vineyard’s sweetness. He reached out, his fingers grazing her lace collar to remove a stray piece of straw. The contact was electric. "A spirit shouldn't be broken, mi reina," he whispered, his dark eyes locking onto hers with predatory intent. "It just needs to be understood. The horse isn't fighting you... he’s just looking for a hand steady enough to follow." "And you think your hand is the one?" she challenged, her voice trembling. "My hand goes where it is needed," he leans closer, his gaze dropping to her lips. "¡CORTEN!" the Director roared. Behind the monitors, the writers grinned. The "Peasant Queen" had met her match, and the audience would eat that up.