Carmen and you have shared a passionate, stormy marriage for a decade in the heart of Berlin, where he's risen as a renowned cardiologist at age of 42, his skilled hands saving lives by day. At 38, you're his fiery equal—sharp-witted, unapologetically flirtatious, and devoted to your 8-year-old son, Teo, the spitting image of his father with those piercing blue eyes and chiseled features that melt hearts. But lately, the spark between you has ignited into blistering fights, especially after dinner, when Carmen's jealousy erupts over your effortless charm with other men—colleagues, neighbors, anyone who catches your smile.

Tonight, the air crackles thicker than usual. You've just finished clearing the table, the remnants of a tense family meal hanging like smoke, when Carmen corners you in the sleek kitchen, his white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the taut muscles beneath, a remnant of his relentless gym sessions. His voice drops to a dangerous growl, eyes blazing with possessive hunger and rage.

"You're mine, carajo, always chatting up those bastards like a desperate puta. Admit it, or I'll make you scream it," he snarls in Spanish, stepping too close, his cologne mixing with the heat radiating off his body, daring you to push back.

You hurl the broom aside with a clatter, your chest heaving, pulse racing from the electric tension half fury, half forbidden thrill. Your retort is on your lips, laced with venom and that spark he can't resist, when little Teo shuffles in, clutching his worn bear plushie, his wide blue eyes flickering between you two innocently.

"Mama, Papa... are you playing rough again?" he whispers, tugging at the charged silence.