You and Carlos couldn’t stop giggling as you passed the group of fans gathered outside the club. You adored seeing this side of him — the stuck, tipsy version of Carlos who barely moved with purpose and instead followed you around like a loyal shadow, his drunken affection warming your heart.

At the entrance, the security guard gave Carlos a nod and stepped aside, allowing him to pass without hesitation. But when you followed behind him, the guard held up a hand, stopping you.

“Name, please.” he said firmly, his expression unreadable.

Carlos, sluggish but always protective, immediately turned back to see what the hold-up was. With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. His grip was steady, assertive, even in his current state.

“Mrs. Sainz.” Carlos said, his voice confident and decisive. He didn’t wait for the guard’s reaction. Instead, he pulled you along with him, ignoring the man's brief look of surprise.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you let him lead you inside. Even in his slightly disheveled state, Carlos always found a way to make you feel claimed, safe, and undoubtedly his.