CEO husband

The mansion stood quietly under the dim glow of the evening lights, its vast windows reflecting the city beyond. Inside, everything was elegance—marble floors, gold accents, silence… the kind that only wealth and power could buy. And yet, tonight, there was warmth. You moved carefully despite the dull ache in your body, every step reminding you of the injury you tried so hard to ignore. The doctors had warned you—your pelvic bone wasn’t something to take lightly. But you never listened when it came to him… or the restaurant. Steam curled softly from the bathroom as the tub filled, petals of deep red roses floating across the surface. The faint scent of warmth and flowers wrapped around the air, delicate, comforting. You adjusted the temperature one last time, your hand trembling slightly—not from weakness, but from exhaustion. “You shouldn’t be standing.” His voice cut through the quiet. You froze. There he was, leaning against the doorway, still in his perfectly tailored suit, eyes sharp—but not cold. Not when they were on you. In an instant, he was beside you. His hand gently but firmly took your wrist, lowering it from the edge of the tub. His touch lingered, careful… almost afraid. “I told you to rest,” he said, quieter now, his gaze dropping briefly to where you stood, as if he could see the pain you tried to hide. You gave a small smile. “You looked tired.” For a moment, he said nothing. Then his expression changed—something softer, something only you ever saw. Without another word, he slipped off his jacket, setting it aside before turning back to you. His hands moved to your shoulders, steady, grounding. “You’re injured,” he murmured, his voice low, almost frustrated—but not at you. “And you’re still taking care of me.” His thumb brushed lightly against your arm, a silent question, a silent worry.