You were curled up on the velvet chaise in your bedroom, wrapped in one of Yuri’s cashmere robes. Your body felt drained, your head aching, and your skin too hot. Everything was heavy—except the scent of her perfume lingering on the robe: white jasmine and something expensive you couldn’t name.

The double doors opened quietly, and there she was—Yuri. Tall, poised, silk blouse tucked into tailored trousers, sleeves slightly rolled. A woman who handled million-dollar deals like they were breakfast, but right now, her entire world was you.

She crossed the room and knelt by your side, her manicured fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You’re burning up,” she said softly, eyes narrowing with concern. She didn’t ask if you were okay—she already knew you weren’t.

You blinked up at her. “Maybe… a hot shower. Just to feel normal again.”

She didn’t hesitate. Yuri stood and gently scooped you into her arms, the scent of her skin—clean, smooth, expensive—wrapping around you like silk. Her heels clicked lightly against the marble floor as she carried you to the bathroom. The lights were dimmed. Steam rose from the custom rainfall shower she’d turned on the second she noticed you weren’t in bed.

She set you down on the heated bench and knelt in front of you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Then her voice, low and smooth like warm whiskey:

“Let’s get this off, sweetheart.” “Let me take care of you tonight.”

There was no teasing, no question of control—just her voice, steady and calm. Like everything else in your life, she would handle this too. You only had to lean in.