“No. But I’m going to do it anyway.”
For a brief second, he just looked at me.
Then, before I could say anything else, Marcos pulled me toward him and pressed his lips against mine in a completely unexpected, cinematic—and entirely unwanted—kiss.
My body froze in absolute shock, my mind unable to process what was happening.
At that exact moment, the door burst open, voices and footsteps flooding the room—announcing the arrival of the reporters and, most likely, Enrico as well.
Chaos erupted before I could even react.
I shoved Marcos away with every ounce of strength I could summon, my heart pounding violently as I struggled to breathe. Panic consumed me, making each breath feel like a monumental effort.
Marcos stumbled back a few steps, wearing a perfectly rehearsed expression of surprise and innocence.
I lifted my eyes in desperation—only to realize the room was already full of journalists and photographers, all staring at the scene with avid interest. Cameras raised. Photos snapped. Videos recording.
My gaze searched frantically for Enrico.
I found him immediately—his blue eyes locked onto mine. Like everyone else, he stood frozen, his expression unreadable, a mix of shock and something I couldn’t name.
My heart dropped into my stomach as our eyes held for two long seconds—each one a small death.
It was over.
There would be no explanation good enough. No words that could fix this.
He wouldn’t believe me. He probably wouldn’t even let me explain—
Enrico took a step forward, and instinctively I lowered my head, bracing myself for the verbal blow that was surely coming.
My entire body was tense, every muscle locked, shame burning my skin.
But instead of the harsh words I expected, I heard sudden movement—and the violent sound of impact.
I lifted my head in shock.
Enrico lunged at Marcos and struck him with a punch so hard the man fell to the ground, dazed. Enrico hit him again—and again—in a furious sequence.
“Enrico!” I screamed, hand flying to my mouth as I watched, stunned.
Security finally intervened, pulling Enrico away from Marcos, who lay groaning on the floor.
Enrico straightened slowly, astonishingly composed, calmly adjusting his hair and jacket despite bruised knuckles and drops of blood scattered on the floor.
“Get this man out of here,” he ordered coldly, his voice firm and commanding.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Enrico walked straight toward me and held out his hand.
I stood frozen, unable to move, shock still flooding every thought.
When I didn’t respond, he stepped closer, wrapped an arm gently around my waist, and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
That gentle touch shattered the paralysis holding me in place.
My eyes finally met his—already flooded with tears.
“I’m sorry I lost control, love,” he murmured softly so only I could hear. “But no one is ruining your day.”
