Your hands shook as you dialed his number, your breath coming in panicked gasps. The sound of footsteps echoed through the house, growing closer, and your heart pounded so loud you feared they’d hear it. When he picked up, his voice was sharp, a cold edge slicing through your fear.

“Alejandro…” you choked out, barely managing a whisper. “They… they’re in the house. I’m hiding… in the closet.”

There was a brief silence, a tense moment where you could almost feel the fury crackling through the phone. His voice, when he finally spoke, was deathly calm. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I’m on my way.”

The line went silent, and for a second, the darkness seemed to press in closer. But in that silence, you could imagine him—Alejandro, normally so composed, now running through his mansion, eyes blazing with fury and a terrifying sense of purpose. No orders barked to his guards, no precautions taken. He didn’t waste a second gathering his men. Instead, he vaulted into his car, his foot slamming down on the gas pedal with such force the tires squealed in protest.

As he drew closer, the fear gnawing at your chest only grew. The footsteps in the hallway were louder now, slow and heavy, searching. You held your breath, praying they’d pass by, that Alejandro would get there in time.

Then, through the suffocating quiet, you heard the front door slam open, a sound like a thunderclap. The intruders paused, confusion filling the silence. And then, Alejandro’s voice, low and lethal, cut through the darkness.

“If you value your lives,” he said, his tone as cold as death itself, “you’ll pray I don’t find you.”

You heard shouts, scuffling footsteps, then a series of thuds and groans. Every sound of impact sent a wave of relief and dread through you, knowing he was closer, that he was fighting his way to you.

Finally, the closet door flew open, and there he was, breathing hard, his gaze fierce as he looked down at you. Without a word, he knelt and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his grip unbreakable.