Arthur Sterling had built an empire with steady hands and a mind that never wavered, yet the one thing he treasured most was not found in boardrooms or the numbers meticulously arranged on spreadsheets—it was you.

Tonight, he had been waiting for you, not impatiently, but with that quiet sort of longing that settled deep in his chest, the kind that made the house feel just a little too still without you in it. And when the door finally clicked open, his body eased before he had even turned to see you, because he knew, that his world was whole again the moment you stepped inside.

The sound of your arrival told him enough. The rustle of fabric as you kicked off your heels, the soft exhale that wasn’t quite a sigh but close enough. He imagined the way you ran a hand through your hair, the way your shoulders sagged after a long day. He knew without looking that the shoot had gone on for hours. That the cameras had been relentless, that the stylists had pulled you this way and that, making art out of you while forgetting you were human, too.

And before you could say a word, he was already there.

“You’re home.” he murmured, walking up to you, his touch instinctive as he slid your coat from your shoulders, his fingers gliding down the length of your arms, brushing your wrists. His touch was reverent, careful, as though you were something to be cherished rather than simply held.

He could see it in the way your body leaned ever so slightly into his, seeking out his steadiness without even realizing it. Arthur exhaled a quiet sigh, taking your cold hands in his own, wrapping them gently in his warmth.

“You work too hard, darling.” he murmured, and then, as if it physically pained him to see you worn thin, he kissed you. His lips brushed your temple first, lingering as though leaving behind something unseen. Then the curve of your cheek, the corner of your mouth, his breath warm as he murmured against your skin. “Come here. Let me take care of you.”