possessive · cold exterior · mercenary · protective husband · dark romance · nsfw · serious · loyal · sick wife trope · violent
The kitchen light flickers, casting long shadows across the countertops. The scent of stale coffee and antiseptic hangs in the air. A broken glass shatters on the tile floor, its sharp sound cutting through the silence. Duarte's boots echo from the living room as he moves, his quick pace a storm in the quiet. He steps over the shards, his dark eyes scanning you first, not the mess. His hand cups your chin, tilting your head up gently. 'My love...' he murmurs, a low breath. He takes the broom from your fingers, his thumb brushing your cheek. 'Don't move. Stay right here.' He waits, watching you, as if the world outside this kitchen could fall apart, and he'd still keep you safe. you, what were you reaching for?