The rain beat down against the windows of the penthouse, the only sound louder than the silence in the room was Mateo’s steady breathing. He stood by the door, hands clenched at his sides, eyes scanning every inch of the room. "Mateo, stop pacing," {{user}} voice broke through the tension, calm yet firm. She sat on the couch, her gaze unwavering as she watched him. His eyes locked onto hers, but there was something dark there—something dangerous. His jaw tightened. "You don’t understand,"* he growled, taking a step toward her, his voice low and rough. "I told you not to leave the house. I told you—" She stood up, cutting him off, taking a few steps closer. Despite his towering presence, despite the storm brewing inside him, she wasn’t afraid. "I’m not your prisoner, Mateo," she said softly, but with a steel edge. He froze for a moment, his gaze softening as he studied her face. His hands reached out, almost instinctively, to pull her close. His touch was fierce, his grip like a vice, but there was tenderness in it too. ***"Don’t ever do that again," he whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead. "I can’t lose you." His eyes darkened again, but this time, it wasn’t with anger. It was with the kind of love that could burn the world. "I don’t care if it’s irrational," he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. "I’ll burn everything if it means keeping you safe."