Page 132 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

The master bedroom felt different with her in it—less like the calculated space of power he'd designed it to be, more like something he couldn't quite name. He laid her on the king-sized bed, pulling back the Egyptian cotton sheets and arranging the pillows to support her properly.

"Cold," she whispered, a small shiver running through her body.

Darius pulled the duvet over her, tucking it carefully around her shoulders. His hands, accustomed to signing billion-dollar contracts and occasionally delivering more permanent solutions to business problems, moved with surprising tenderness.

"Better?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded slightly, burrowing deeper into his bedding. He placed his palm against her forehead—still warm, but not dangerously so. The simple gesture felt strangely intimate, more so than the bath had been.

Darius settled in the chair beside the bed, loosening his tie. He wouldn't leave her, not until he was certain the fever had broken. The thought of doing anything else didn't cross his mind.

An hour passed before Serenity stirred again, her eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. This time, awareness filtered into her gaze as she opened her eyes.

"Darius?" she croaked, confusion evident in her voice. She tried to sit up, then winced, abandoning the effort. "What... what time is it?"

"Almost five," he answered, leaning forward. "Evening."

Her eyes widened. "Five? But I had the quarterly projections due at—" She stopped, looking down at herself. "Are these your pajamas? Why am I—" Another pause as realization dawned. "Oh god, did you?—"

"You have a fever," he interrupted matter-of-factly. "I found you unconscious in bed when you didn't show up for work or answer your phone."

She pressed a palm to her forehead. "Shit. I had meetings scheduled. The Taiwanese investors?—"

"Have been rescheduled." His tone left no room for argument. "Castellano Holdings continues to function without you for one day."

Serenity frowned, the expression more familiar on her face than the vulnerability of moments before. "I should have set an alarm. I never miss work." She plucked at the silk pajamas. "Why am I wearing these? Where are my clothes?"

Darius arched an eyebrow. "Would you prefer I left you in sweat-soaked sheets? Your fever was high enough to warrant intervention."

A blush that had nothing to do with fever crept across her cheeks. "You didn't have to—I could have—" She stopped, seeming to realize the futility of the argument. "Thank you," she finally said, though the words clearly cost her something.

"You're welcome," he replied, the formality masking a deeper satisfaction at seeing her eyes clear and alert again. He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. "Drink."

She accepted the glass, her fingers brushing his. "I need to check my email. My laptop?—"

"Is staying where it is." He fixed her with the same stare that had made cartel leaders reconsider their positions. "You're staying in bed."

"I'm fine now," she protested, though the effect was undermined by the rasp in her voice. "It was just a momentary?—"

"Serenity." Her name was both warning and something else. "Don't make me tie you to this bed."

Her eyes widened slightly, that familiar spark of defiance flickering despite her condition. "You wouldn't dare."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Try me."

"I can't afford to miss work," Serenity insisted, though her voice lacked its usual steel. "The quarterly reports for the Vale shipping division?—"

"Will still be there tomorrow," Darius cut in, his tone gentler than she'd ever heard from him. He adjusted the pillow behind her head with careful precision. "Everything is under control. Martinez is handling the shipping analysis, Chen has the financial statements, and I've postponed the board meeting until next week."

She blinked slowly, processing this information through the fog of her fever. "You... reorganized my entire schedule?"

"I did," he confirmed without apology. "One of the benefits of being the King."

The use of his notorious moniker should have irked her, but instead she found it oddly comforting. The Prime Alpha who commanded the East Coast's largest criminal empire had apparently turned his formidable organizational skills to managing her sick day.

"My head feels like it's splitting open," she admitted reluctantly, pressing fingertips to her temples. Her usualwalls crumbling momentarily under the weight of physical discomfort. "And I'm still so hot."

"That's because you have a fever of 102," Darius explained, his gray eyes assessing her with clinical precision. "The medicine should start working soon. You need to rest." His hand moved to her forehead, the coolness of his palm a blessed relief against her burning skin.

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