Chapter Six – The CEO and the Cough Syrup 

I wake up slowly.

My body feels heavy, like I've been run over by a truck. My head is hot, and my throat is dry. Everything aches. I try to sit up, but even that feels like too much. I'm wrapped in a blanket, lying on the couch in Kairo's penthouse.

Wait. The couch?

I remember working late last night. I was typing something for a client. I must've fallen asleep right there. I don't even remember climbing under this blanket. Maybe I didn't.

Maybe someone did that for me.

My phone is on the table. I squint at the time, almost 10 a.m.

Panic hits me. I'm late. I never sleep this late.

I try to get up again, but I fall back with a groan. My nose is stuffy. My body feels weak. I must be sick. Really sick.

The elevator dings.

Oh no.

The last person I want seeing me like this is... him.

The doors slide open, and Kairo steps out, dressed in dark pants and a sweater, no tie or jacket today. He looks like he belongs in a magazine. I, on the other hand, probably look like I fought a cold and lost.

His steps slow when he sees me. He frowns.

"You didn't show up," he says, voice low.

"I texted," I say, voice rough, though I think he would have seen me lying here when he was going to work, I probably was in a deep sleep. "Fever. Or the flu. Not sure."

He walks closer and places a paper bag on the coffee table.

"I figured." He shrugs. "So I brought this."

I open the bag. Inside... cold medicine, cough syrup, tea, vitamins... even a container of soup.

My mouth drops open a little. "You… brought me medicine?"

"Don't read into it." He sits in the chair across from me. "You live here. If something happens to you under my roof, it becomes a problem. I'm avoiding problems."

But his tone is softer than his words.

He watches me for a moment, like he's trying to read my mind.

"You need to eat something and take those meds," he says.

I try to sit up again. My head spins. Kairo is already there, helping me sit, handing me water and two pills.

I stare at him.

This man never helps anyone.

He's cold at work, quiet at home, and distant with almost everyone.

But right now… he's warm. Calm. Kind.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He says nothing. Just leans back and watches me sip the water slowly.

I slept again after taking the medicine.

When I wake up, it's late afternoon. The light is softer, golden. I look toward the balcony. The doors are open. A cool breeze floats in.

And there he is.

Kairo is still in the room. Sitting in the corner, working on his laptop. He hasn't left.

My heart does something strange.

He stayed?

Why?

He lifts his head and sees me awake. Closes the laptop and walks over.

"You still feel hot," he says. His hand brushes my forehead, just for a second. "Did you eat?"

"No," I say softly. "Wasn't hungry."

"I'll heat the soup."

Before I can say anything, he's already in the kitchen. I listen to the soft sounds of him moving around, opening the fridge, using the microwave, and grabbing a spoon.

When he comes back, he hands me the soup in a bowl and waits until I take the first bite.

It's warm. Simple. Good.

I glance at him. "Why are you doing this?"

He doesn't answer right away.

"I don't know," he says finally. "Maybe because I don't like seeing you like this."

"You're acting like you care."

"Maybe I do."

The words are soft. Almost lost in the wind.

I stopped eating. Our eyes meet.

It's been quiet for a long time.

Then he stands. Picks up his jacket. His face is calm again, guarded.

"I'll have someone bring dinner. Rest more. And drink the tea."

He walks to the elevator. Pauses just before the doors open.

"You're my Wife, Zara. Don't forget that."

Then he leaves.

That night, I lie in bed, his guest room in the penthouse, the one I've been using since I moved in.

The city glows outside.

My fever is better. My body feels lighter.

But my heart?

It's heavier.

Because I'm starting to feel things I shouldn't. I'm starting to want things I told myself I wouldn't want again.

And Kairo… he's showing cracks in that wall he hides behind.

Little by little.

And I don't know what's more dangerous..

The sickness in my body.

Or the slow, quiet pull I feel every time he looks at me like I matter.