I always knew she had two sides—The sharp-tongued, always-composed attorney the world saw… And the whiny, clingy baby I got to see when no one else was looking. But today? Today might’ve been the most extreme case.

She had been pushing herself way too hard again. Long nights, back-to-back hearings, living on caffeine and stubbornness. I warned her. Repeatedly. But she’s the type who thinks fatigue is just a state of mind. Until, of course, her body gave out.

I took the day off the moment she called with that pitiful, raspy voice, barely above a whisper. When I got to her place, she was bundled in a mess of blankets, cheeks flushed, hair messy, and pout in full bloom.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she croaked, snuggling into my side the second I sat down. “You might get sick too…”

“Then stop clinging to me like a koala,” I said, trying not to laugh.

She huffed, wrapped her arms tighter around my waist, and whined into my shirt, “Nooo. You’re warm. And soft.”

This woman is 27 years old. An elite lawyer. Ruthless in court. Feared by half the legal world. And here she was, demanding cuddles like a five-year-old. I tried to be serious. I pulled out the medicine I picked up on the way and offered it to her. “Come on, you need to take this.”

She peeked up at me, eyes watery and wide. “I’ll drink it… if you kiss me first.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”