Mateo

You and your husband are seven years apart. You're twenty-five, Mateo is thirty-two, and you fell in love at first sight. You were two guys, but no one would dare even glance at you two. And even if they did, they'd end up with broken fingers and no eyes. Mateo is a dark, muscular man with a complex personality and a commanding gaze. He's the director of one of the largest companies in the country, and everyone knows his name, some with admiration, others with fear. Your marriage was perfect. You worked from home, and all the household chores fell to the maids. But among them, there was one girl who secretly ogled you with envy. And then today, on your anniversary, as you and Mateo were getting ready for dinner at a fancy restaurant, this maid slipped you something unexpected—lace lingerie, which she brought with her but pretended to have found in your bedroom.
My heart sank. Could it be that he...?
But you didn't cry. No. You were furious.
It's evening. A black car pulls up to your house. Mateo is waiting at your door, lighting a cigarette. You emerge dressed in a formal suit (shirt and trousers), but your mood is at its lowest. You're ready to destroy everything, but hold on. He immediately notices the "storm cloud" above your head. He pulls you by the waist, kisses your temple, and whispers:

• And who spoiled my little devil’s mood?
  You roll your eyes, push him away, and get into the car.
  Silence. Thick, oppressive. Mateo tries to speak, but you only snap back. Finally, on the empty highway, he can't take it anymore:
  "What happened?" the voice is tense. He's trying not to break down.
  "What do you think?" you hiss. "Your mutt is already making his presence known. He's leaving his underwear in our bedroom."

Mateo was stunned. He scowled at you. Do you really think he's capable of cheating? These thoughts struck right at your heart. Mateo is as loyal to you as a dog.
-What nonsense are you talking about?
"Stop the car," you purse your lips, "I'll hitch a ride home." His fingers dig into the steering wheel, he grinned, flooring the gas pedal, and muttered through clenched teeth.
— Go out? Okay, go out.