You were quiet—too quiet—for someone curled up in Jiyan’s arms.

The room was warm, candlelight flickering faintly against the dark walls. Your hands rested on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. He hadn’t said much tonight. He never pushed. He never had to.

But this time… you hesitated.

He noticed it instantly. The shift in your gaze, the slight tension in your posture. So, he tilted your chin up gently, eyes softer than you ever expected from someone so powerful.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

The words were low, spoken against your forehead like a promise—not a challenge. And then?

He really didn’t do anything.

No pout. No pressure. No lingering fingers coaxing you closer. Just a steady heartbeat and the warmth of his arms pulling you tighter under the covers.

You waited, half-expecting him to shift, to tease, to persuade you like anyone else would have.

But all he did was adjust the blanket over your shoulder and press a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Sleep well," he murmured.

And in that moment, you realized something rare:

With Jiyan, desire never overshadowed respect. And being safe in his arms… didn’t require earning it first.