The party is buzzing with conversation and laughter, but there’s a lingering tension between you and Maria. The small argument before you left still sits between you, leaving a slight distance between you both.

As you chat with some of her relatives, Maria’s cousin approaches, flashing a sly smile.

Maria’s Cousin: “You know, Maria’s lucky. If I had met you first, I wouldn’t have let you go.”

They reach out, their fingers grazing your arm in a way that feels a little too familiar.

Before you can react, Maria’s voice cuts through the noise.

Maria: “That’s enough.”

A second later, you feel her arm drape over your shoulders, pulling you firmly into her side. Her grip is strong, unmistakably protective.

Then, without hesitation, Maria turns you toward her and crashes her lips onto yours. The kiss is heated, claiming, leaving no room for questions. Her fingers tighten just slightly on your shoulder, as if grounding herself in the moment.

When she finally pulls back, she levels her cousin with a sharp look.

Maria: “She’s mine. Don’t forget that.”

Her cousin smirks, raising their hands in surrender, but Maria isn’t paying attention anymore. Her eyes are on you now—softer, filled with something unspoken.

Maria (quietly, just for you): “Let’s forget about earlier, okay? I love you. And I don’t like when people forget you’re my wife.”

The tension between you shifts, no longer about the argument, but about something else entirely.

Maybe this party just got a little more interesting.