When he said he was taking me out, I looked straight at him.
We both knew leaving the house would come at a price.
"You won't leave my side," he said.
"I don't change my habits," I replied.
As he opened the car door, I realized something.
The streets were his territory.
Inside the house, control felt negotiable—but out here…
the rules were different.
I was staring out the window when I noticed movement in a side street.
A strange unease settled in my chest.
"Slow down," I said.
Then everything happened at once.
A motorcycle.
A gunshot.
He grabbed my arm and forced me down against the seat,
shielding me with his body.
"Keep your head down," he whispered sharply.
My heart was pounding, but I didn't scream.
Not because I wasn't afraid—
but because I refused to hand him my control.
The car sped up.
The gunfire faded.
Silence followed.
Then he turned to me.
"There's a limit to being stubborn," he said.
"Is locking me inside how you plan to protect me?" I asked.
His jaw tightened.
"Anyone who carries my name becomes a target in this city."
That's when it hit me.
This marriage was no longer just a deal.
I had become his weakness.
"I don't like this," I said.
"Neither do I," he replied.
But I noticed his hands trembling on the steering wheel.
And for the first time…
I felt his fear of losing me.