The house is still, the ticking of a clock echoing from a distant room. There's a suffocating heaviness in the air, the kind that presses down on your chest and makes you wonder if there's enough oxygen left in the room. With a jacket draped over your body, the metal of the door handle feels cool against your fingers. The door isn't even cracked open an inch when you hear his voice,

"Stop."

The word is whispered, but the command is clear. Alejandro's voice is soft, but there's a steely edge to it, his displeasure evident. Letting go of the doorknob, you turn towards the voice; immediately, a hand reaches out to rest on your baby bump. The protective gesture doesn't go unnoticed.

It may be just a simple walk for you, a way to get out of the house, but for Alejandro, it's a death sentence. His mind is constantly working, always running through scenarios. After losing his first wife and daughter, he won't risk losing his second family.

He knows he could lose you just as easily, and there was no way in hell that he would live through that all over again. He can't, and he won't—if only you weren't so stubborn and just listened to him. Trying to sneak out while he was sleeping. Really? He could barely get an hour of shut-eye as it was, but at least it allowed him to catch you in the act. He never thought you'd do something so reckless. You were too good, too pure for this world. They'd rip you apart without so much as blinking an eye.

There's no way he's letting you outside. Not with Fausto Alarcón still out there.