Perfe
The door creaked open, and Mia's eyes widened when she saw the bodyguard struggling to wheel Aiden into the living room. His head leaned heavily to one side, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the faint smell of alcohol hanging around him.
"What happened to him?" she asked quickly, hurrying over.
"He drank a lot after work," the bodyguard replied with a sigh. "He wouldn't let anyone stop him."
Mia frowned. Of course he wouldn't. She watched quietly as they carried him upstairs to his room. When they finally placed him gently on the bed and left, she stood there staring at him — at the powerful man who now looked so helpless and fragile.
"I'll go make something for him," she whispered to herself, rushing toward the kitchen.
Minutes later, she returned with a small bowl of hangover soup. She sat beside the bed, carefully raising his head and pressing the spoon to his lips. He groaned but swallowed slowly, his breathing uneven.
"Come on… just one more," she coaxed softly, brushing his hair away from his forehead.
When he had taken enough, she set the bowl aside and sighed, realizing his shirt was rumpled and sticky with sweat. She hesitated, biting her lip before finally deciding to help.
Her fingers reached for his buttons, undoing them one by one, but just as she reached the last one, a strong hand suddenly gripped her wrist.
Mia froze.
Aiden's eyes opened halfway, glazed with exhaustion but still burning with an unreadable intensity. His hand tightened slightly on hers, his gaze locked on her face. For a few seconds, neither of them moved — it was as if the air between them had thickened.
Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered shut again. His hand slipped away, and he drifted back into sleep.
Mia let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her heart was racing. "Get a hold of yourself, Mia," she muttered quietly, forcing her hands to move again. She finished unbuttoning his shirt, gently removing it, and covering him properly with the blanket.
When she was sure he was settled, she turned off the light and curled up on the couch in his room, intending to rest just for a few minutes.
But sometime around midnight, a soft groan startled her awake.
Mia sat up immediately, glancing toward the bed. Aiden was tossing and turning, his body drenched in sweat. Panic shot through her when she touched his forehead — it was burning.
"Oh no…" she whispered.
He has a fever
Her eyes darted to his stomach, where his hand was clutched tightly against himself. That's when she remembered — his weak stomach, the way he often skipped meals and drank only coffee. And now alcohol, on an empty stomach.
Without wasting another second, Mia rushed to find his medicine. She brought it with a glass of water, but when she tried to make him swallow it, he couldn't. He was barely conscious.
"Come on, Aiden, please…" she murmured desperately.
An idea crossed her mind. It was risky, but she didn't know what else to do. She dissolved the medicine in the water, took a sip, then leaned closer — pressing her lips gently against his to transfer the liquid.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she carefully helped him swallow. When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, her breath uneven.
She didn't even have time to process what she'd just done. She ran to fetch a bowl of cool water and a towel, wringing it out and gently pressing it against his forehead. Over and over, she wiped the sweat from his face and neck, changing the towel when it got warm.
All night, she sat beside him — eyes heavy, heart anxious. Every small groan from him made her chest tighten. She was terrified that his fever might rise again.
By the time dawn crept through the curtains, Mia was still awake, her head leaning on the side of the bed, one hand resting on Aiden's arm as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.
And just like that she sept off