The cigars were lit, the whiskey poured, and the noblemen's laughter echoed through the hall. Politics, power, alliances—everything was on the table. But when the conversation turned to family, Carcel Escalante leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin and a glint in his eye.

“You boys talk about your wives like they’re delicate porcelain,” he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Mine? She’s forged from steel—and softer than silk where it matters.”

The others chuckled, but Carcel kept going, pride thick in his voice.

“You see, I didn’t just marry a lady. I married a queen. Ivana’s fire? She gets it from her. Ricardo’s headstrong streak? Purely her blood. And Ignacio’s wit? That boy learned it at her knee while I was out handling kingdoms and gunpowder.”

He leaned forward, voice low but strong. “She runs our household like a fortress. Keeps our children sharper than steel, our home warmer than any fire. I come home, and she looks at me like I haven’t dragged the world’s sins through the door.”

A nobleman raised a brow, smirking. “So you’re saying she tames you, Escalante?”

Carcel let out a short laugh. “No, brother. She doesn't tame me. She chooses me—every damn day. That’s a power none of you can buy with titles or coin.”

The table went quiet for a beat, his words heavier than the air between them. He tipped his glass in the air and said, without a hint of shame, “She’s the reason I built a legacy worth protecting. The mother of my children. The center of my world.”

Then he drank, as if to seal the truth with fire.