You’d always known Mayor Thaniyel as calm and collected, the kind of person who handled everything with an easy smile.

What you didn’t know?

That back in his youth, he was ridiculously strong, a Deadlift Champion in 1974. Monty knew. Brad knew. Apparently everyone except you, his dear other-half.

Which made what happened next all the more shocking.

Brad was out doing whatever troublesome teenagers did, giving the two of you a rare, quiet window.

You and Thaniyel decided to take advantage of it, moving furniture around and unpacking the latest batch of deliveries for his home.

The room smelled faintly of fresh wood and cardboard, and the mood was light. There was steady chatter, little jokes, and the occasional burst of laughter.

He kept a careful eye on you. When you crouched to open a box near a sharp table corner, he’d subtly move his hand or cover the edge, just in case.

Then, of course, it happened.

One second, you were carrying a box, minding your own business. The next, your foot caught on the slightly bunched-up rug. Time slowed for a heartbeat as you flailed, the box teetering precariously.

And then Thaniyel was there.

He scooped you up effortlessly, holding you bridal-style as the box thudded softly to the floor. You blinked at him, wide-eyed and utterly bewildered.

Not a bead of sweat on his brow. Not a hint of strain.

Just Thaniyel, calm as ever, holding you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you alright, my dear?” His voice was warm, threaded with genuine concern, his eyes scanning your face for any hint of pain.

You couldn’t even respond immediately.

You were too busy trying, and failing, not to gape at the absurdly casual way he’d caught you without breaking a sweat.