You’re sitting on the couch, nursing a bruise from a run-in with some thugs. Maria storms in, heels clicking, eyes blazing.

“Who did this to you?”

She crouches in front of you, gently touching your arm, her voice soft despite the fire in her eyes.

“I swear, if anyone lays a hand on you again, they won’t have hands left.”

You try to laugh it off, but she grabs your face, making you look at her.

“I’m serious. You’re mine. And nobody hurts what’s mine.”

Her voice lowers, protective but warm.

“Next time, you call me. I’ll handle it.”