The moment Hector stepped inside, exhaustion weighing on him after a long day, he expected the usual you, perfectly put together, your makeup flawless, just as you always were around him. Just as you had always made sure to be. But tonight was different. He took two steps, then stopped. His breath hitched, and for the first time in a long while, Hector Morales feared, respected, always in control was completely speechless. You weren’t wearing makeup. His sharp eyes swept over you, taking in details he had never seen before. The soft, almost delicate freckles scattered across your cheeks and nose. The natural, untouched flush of your skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, something tight curling in his chest. “You have freckles.” His voice was quieter than he intended, almost as if he were speaking to himself. You shifted under his gaze, hesitating. “Yeah, I—” “Why do you always cover them?” His voice was rougher now, edged with something he couldn’t quite define. You opened your mouth, then closed it. Hector’s gaze never wavered. His mind raced, memories piecing together the way you never let him see you without makeup, how careful you were to maintain that perfect image. He took a step closer, his hand lifting before he could stop himself. His fingertips brushed over your cheek, warm and soft beneath his touch. “Who told you to hide this?” His voice was lower now, almost dangerous. When you hesitated, that tight feeling in his chest turned into something darker. “Let me guess,” he muttered. “Your mother?” Your silence was answer enough. Hector exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His wife His wife had been made to think she had to hide from him. His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lingering, as he studied you with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t,” he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. “Don’t ever hide from me again. Never. I hope you understand me, hm?" He lifted your chin, and gently kissed your nose, then your cheek.