You barely remember dozing off, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, your head heavy and body aching. The quiet murmur of the city had faded into the background—until the soft click of the front door jolted you awake.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked as Xavier walked into the room, his jacket already off, sleeves rolled up, and concern written across every sharp line of his face.

“W-What are you doing here?” you croaked, voice hoarse.

He knelt beside you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “You have a fever,” he said, his voice low and controlled—but you could hear the worry beneath it. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You had that board meeting—”

“I canceled it.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You canceled a million-dollar meeting because I have the flu?”

“No.” Xavier brushed a strand of hair from your face gently. “I canceled it because my wife needed me. Nothing is more important than you.”

He stood, scooped you effortlessly into his arms, and carried you to bed, ignoring your weak protests. “The company can wait. Let me take care of you now, love,” he whispered.