Us Against the World
980 Words
The morning sun poured through the tall windows of the penthouse, bathing the room in soft gold. Helena stood barefoot on the marble balcony, a silk robe wrapped loosely around her figure. One hand rested over her stomach, where a tiny life grew in secret. The other held a cup of mint tea, still steaming.
Behind her, Miguel stirred in the bed, the soft rustle of sheets announcing his presence. She felt him before she saw him—his energy always reached her first. Calm, protective, powerful.
He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.
“Still not used to waking up in my arms?” he murmured, voice husky from sleep.
She leaned back against his chest. “Still not used to waking up at all.”
He chuckled low, brushing her hair aside. “Well, get used to it, princesa. I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next hundred years.”
---
After breakfast—lavish and prepared by Miguel himself, much to her surprise—he handed her a sleek black envelope with a crimson wax seal.
“What’s this?” she asked, eyebrow arched.
“A gift,” he said. “You’ve been through enough. We both have. It’s time we remembered what it means to live.”
Inside was a first-class ticket.
Destination: Santorini, Greece.
Departure: Tonight.
Helena’s lips parted in surprise. “We’re leaving?”
Miguel smirked, leaning against the marble counter. “Just you and me. No guards, no phones, no enemies. Just salt air, wine, and maybe a little scandal.”
Her laugh lit up the room. “You really booked a trip to an island for us?”
“No,” he said. “I bought a villa on it.”
---
They left that night on a private jet.
Helena wore a soft beige dress and sunglasses that framed her delicate features. Miguel was in tailored linen, still managing to look like a sinfully rich mob boss even while “relaxing.”
She watched him on the plane—one hand holding a glass of wine, the other resting on her thigh possessively—and she couldn’t help but smile. He was everything: danger, devotion, and desire wrapped into one breathtaking man.
They didn’t talk much on the flight.
They didn’t need to.
---
The villa was a dream carved into the cliffs of Santorini, whitewashed walls gleaming under the moonlight. It overlooked the Aegean Sea, waves whispering below.
Helena kicked off her sandals the moment they entered and walked barefoot through the open space, taking in the panoramic windows, the private infinity pool, the silence.
“This is heaven,” she whispered.
Miguel came up behind her again, as he always did, encasing her in his presence.
“No,” he corrected. “You are.”
---
The next few days passed like a dream.
They spent mornings lounging in bed, the breeze cooling their skin as they spoke in whispers about nothing and everything.
Afternoons were spent walking along cobblestone paths, Miguel’s hand never leaving hers. Locals smiled politely, unaware that the man who tipped so generously was a feared figure across continents.
Helena felt different here.
Lighter. Braver. Beautiful.
Miguel treated her like royalty—pulling her chair out, feeding her olives, brushing her hair after her bath.
She had never known this side of him. This soft, quiet version. And he never showed it to anyone but her.
One night, they danced under the stars on the rooftop.
No music.
Just the rhythm of waves and heartbeats.
---
“Do you ever think,” Helena asked as they swayed together, “about leaving it all behind? The empire. The chaos. The blood.”
Miguel looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I don’t think. I plan.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’m already moving things. Liquidating parts of the network. Cleaning up ties. I won’t raise our child surrounded by shadows.”
Her lips trembled. “You’re serious.”
“I’ve never been more.”
He tilted her chin up. “I’d give up everything for you, Helena. My name. My power. My past. All of it.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “But I don’t want you to give it up. I want you to rise above it. I want us to own it—and make it better.”
Miguel stared at her with a mix of reverence and awe.
“You’re not just sweet,” he said. “You’re steel.”
She smiled. “Only because I fell in love with a lion.”
---
Later, under white sheets scented with sea salt and jasmine, they made love again—not hurried, not desperate, but worshipful.
Miguel kissed every inch of her as if memorizing her again. Helena whispered his name like a prayer. Their bodies moved in sync, in reverence, in hunger softened by love.
When they collapsed together, their breathing entwined, she pressed her forehead to his chest.
“I feel invincible with you,” she murmured.
“You are,” he whispered. “And anyone who forgets that… will regret it.”
---
Before they left the island, Miguel took her to the edge of the cliffs.
The wind whipped around them, and he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
Helena’s heart stilled.
He opened it.
Inside was a ring—simple, elegant, with a blue sapphire nestled in gold.
“Will you marry me, Helena?” he asked, no grand speech, no theatrics.
Just him.
Just love.
She didn’t cry.
She smiled, strong and sure.
“Yes.”
And when he slipped the ring onto her finger, she knew:
They weren’t just lovers.
They were a force.
Unstoppable.
- Writer
