It started with a sneeze.
Then another.
And by the time Liana set the table for breakfast, she was sniffling, pale, and slightly wobbly on her feet. She had meant to make toast and eggs again—but ended up sitting down after just boiling water for tea.
Nathaniel walked in, adjusting his cufflinks, and paused mid-step when he saw her.
"You look pale," he said, his voice suddenly more alert.
"I'm fine," Liana lied, forcing a small smile. "Just a little—"She sneezed again. Three times in a row.
He walked straight to her, placing a hand on her forehead.
"You're burning up." His voice was low, almost scolding—but the crease in his brow betrayed his worry. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's just a cold," she whispered. "I'll rest after breakfast."
Nathaniel shook his head. "No. You're going back to bed. Now."
"But—"
"No arguments, Mrs. Reyes."
The way he said her name—his name—made her blink.
And then, for the first time since they married, Nathaniel made breakfast.
It was a simple attempt. He burned the first piece of toast. Dropped an egg. But thirty minutes later, he appeared at the bedroom door with a tray.
Two pieces of toast. Scrambled eggs. Orange juice. And honey tea.
He placed the tray on the nightstand and helped her sit up. Carefully. Gently.
"You cooked," she said, voice raspy.
"Barely," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "It's edible. I think."
She giggled. "Looks perfect to me."
She took a bite and winced slightly at the dryness, but smiled anyway. "Better than the store-bought stuff."
He sat beside her, finally letting his shoulders relax.
"I canceled my meetings today," he said.
Liana blinked. "Why?"
"So I can take care of my wife," he said simply, without hesitation.
Her throat tightened.
For a man who built empires and made billion-peso deals daily, that quiet declaration held more power than any signature on paper.
The rest of the day was slow and soft.
Nathaniel placed a cool cloth on her forehead every hour. He read a chapter from her book aloud when her voice gave out. He even tried his hand at porridge for lunch—too salty, but made with focus and furrowed brows.
And that night, when she stirred in her sleep with a soft cough, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"You're not alone anymore, Liana," he whispered into the dark."I'll take care of you. Just stay."
She didn't hear him.
But somehow, she smiled in her sleep.