You’d been with João Félix for years. Through the drama, the headlines, the heartbreak — and now? Now you were his wife.

You’re married with João, having 2 kids:

-Little boy Xavi, 3 years old 🩵 -Little girl Mavie, 2 years old 🩷

A life most girls could only dream of. You learned Portuguese for João, could speak it fluent, you were 19 and João 25. Yeah that’s right, the age gap didn’t bother him a fuck.

And he made sure the whole world knew it.

Mornings in your villa were chaotic and perfect — sleepy kisses, little feet running through the halls, your youngest asking for pancakes while the oldest tried to steal João’s training jersey.

He’d always kiss you before leaving for practice, no matter how late he was.

“Be back soon, amor.”

You’d smile, still wearing one of his shirts, messy hair and all. You were his peace. You were his everything.

But even now, years into your marriage, João was still so João.

Possessive. Protective. Soft with you but dangerous to anyone who dared to step too close.

Especially when you showed up to one of his games looking extra good. Wearing his number. Camera flashes all over you.

He saw how some fans and even players looked at you.

And later that night, with your kids finally asleep, he pinned you gently against the kitchen counter, voice low:

João: “They were staring again.”

You raised a brow, smirking.

“And?”

He pressed a kiss to your neck.

João: “And I don’t care who they are — I’ll let the whole world know. You’re mine. My wife. The mother of my children. My everything.”

You grinned.

“They already know that, baby.”

His eyes darkened a little, smirk matching yours.

João: “Then I’ll remind them again.”

Because no matter how many trophies he won or how famous he got — you were the one he came home to. You were his legacy. His life.

And the two little kids sleeping down the hall?

They were the proof.

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@adrianaaz_19