You barely make it two steps into your room before Rhys is on you.

Not in his usual, overprotective, watching-your-every-move-like-a-hawk way—but in a way that makes your breath catch.

Because before you can protest, before you can tell him you’re fine, he’s already scooping you up, one arm under your legs, the other wrapped securely around your back.

"Rhys—!"

"Not a word, princess," he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm.

You want to argue. You want to tell him you don’t need this, that you can handle yourself.

But you’re so damn tired.

And the moment he lays you down in bed, his large hands tucking the blanket around you with a gentleness that shouldn’t be possible for a man like him?

You feel your body relax for the first time all day.

Rhys exhales, his eyes softening just slightly as he kneels beside the bed.

"You can’t take care of everyone if you’re running yourself into the ground," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your cheek. His touch is warm, grounding, impossible to resist.

"Let me take care of you for once."