Jaxton didn't want any disturbances. The moment the doctor left, he turned to the housecleaner and chefs who stood hesitantly by the hallway and said, "Go home. I'll handle things here tonight."
There was something about the firmness in his voice that left no room for argument, but it wasn't cold, rather, it was protective.
Once the house fell silent, Jaxton returned to their bedroom. The lights were dim, the soft bedside lamp casting a warm hue across Aneira's flushed face. She was murmuring faintly in her sleep, brow lightly furrowed in discomfort. The fever hadn't broken yet.
He exhaled deeply and moved toward the bathroom. He turned on the tap and filled the bathtub with warm water, testing the temperature with the back of his hand a few times to ensure it was just right. Then he walked back to her and sat on the edge of the bed.
His hands reached out to her clothes with hesitation, but there was no one else. And leaving her like this wasn't an option.
