When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark.
For a moment, everything felt blurred. Heavy.
My head throbbed painfully the second I tried to move.
A quiet wince escaped me before I could stop it.
Across the room, a chair creaked softly.
I blinked slowly.
Draven sat near the window, one leg crossed over the other, his figure half-shadowed beneath the pale moonlight spilling through the curtains.
Watching me.
Silently.
The sight of him there made my thoughts struggle back together.
The file. The conversation. Waiting for him.
Then—
The hallway.
I frowned faintly. "What happened…?"
Draven exhaled lazily, tilting his head slightly against the chair.
"You collapsed."
My brows furrowed.
"I did not."
"You did," he replied calmly. "In the passage."
A pause.
"And you made me carry you all the way back here."
I stared at him weakly.
"That sounds exaggerated."
"It wasn't."
I tried pushing myself upright, but dizziness hit almost immediately.
Draven clicked his tongue softly before standing.
"Stay still."
I ignored him anyway.
Bad decision.
The moment I shifted again, his hand caught my shoulder firmly and eased me back against the pillows with almost irritating ease.
"You have a fever," he said flatly.
Only then did I notice the tray beside the bed.
Medicine. Soup. Bread.
My eyes lifted toward him again.
Draven sighed quietly, already moving toward the tray.
"If not for the fact that you've been relatively obedient these past few days," he muttered, "I wouldn't be wasting my night doing this."
Despite the headache, a faint scoff escaped me.
"That almost sounded caring."
"It wasn't."
Liar.
He placed the tray in front of me before pulling the chair closer to the bedside.
"Sit up and eat."
I obeyed this time. Mostly because my body felt too weak to argue properly.
The soup was warm, but exhaustion dulled my appetite completely. I picked at the food slowly, barely managing a few bites.
Draven watched for exactly three seconds before his patience disappeared.
Without warning, he took the spoon from my hand.
I blinked.
"Draven—"
"Open your mouth."
"I can feed myself."
"You're doing an impressive job proving otherwise."
I frowned immediately.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He lifted the spoon slightly toward me again.
I crossed my arms weakly. "No."
His gaze rested on me for a long second.
Then— dangerously calm—
"Don't make me do this the old-fashioned way."
I stared at him.
"The old-fashioned way sounds threatening."
"It is."
Before I could protest again, he moved the spoon toward me anyway.
I finally gave in with visible annoyance, taking the bite quickly just to stop him.
"That's enough," I complained after a few more bites.
Draven ignored me completely.
"Draven—"
"Another."
"I'm not hungry anymore."
"Unfortunate."
By the time he finally stopped, I felt genuinely offended.
He handed me the medicine next.
I swallowed it quickly just to end the humiliation.
But apparently that still wasn't enough for him.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Did you actually swallow it?"
I stared at him in disbelief.
"…Am I five?"
"Answer the question."
I opened my mouth slightly with exaggerated irritation.
Only then did he lean back again, apparently satisfied.
Unbelievable.
Silence settled afterward.
Draven moved away from the bed and returned toward the chair near the window, his gaze drifting toward the night outside.
The moonlight caught against the sharp line of his jaw.
Tense.
Too tense.
The earlier irritation slowly faded from me.
Because now that I looked carefully—
something was wrong.
His fingers rested still against the armrest. Too still for him.
Like he was forcing himself to think calmly.
Like something inside him was pressing harder than he wanted to admit.
"You know," I said quietly, "you could tell me things too."
No response.
Then—
A faint chuckle.
"Since when," he asked calmly, "could I trust you with everything?"
The words should've stung.
Strangely— they didn't.
Because this version of Draven… was already saying more than he realized.
I pushed myself upright slightly.
"You've already started trusting me."
That finally made his gaze shift toward me.
I held it carefully.
"You just don't notice it yet."
Silence.
Then Draven leaned his head back slightly against the chair.
"I gave you a portion of my trust," he admitted lazily.
A pause.
"You should feel honored."
Despite myself, my lips curved faintly.
"How generous of you."
"You are my guardian angel after all."
The words caught me off guard.
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
Draven turned his head slightly then, looking at me properly beneath the dim light.
Then he chuckled quietly.
"Though," he added, "you've known me for barely a month."
A slow pause followed.
"And you still don't understand what kind of man you married."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Softer. Dangerous.
I swallowed lightly before standing from the bed.
The floor felt colder beneath my feet as I walked slowly toward him.
Draven watched the entire time.
Didn't stop me.
Didn't move.
I stopped behind his chair slowly, my fingers resting lightly against the edge of it.
Then leaned down slightly near him.
"Then tell me," I whispered softly.
For the first time that night— his breathing changed.
Barely.
But enough.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
"I'm serious," I murmured. "You don't always have to carry everything alone."
Silence.
Then suddenly—
his hand caught my wrist.
Firm.
My breath hitched softly.
In one smooth motion, he pulled me slightly forward until I lost balance against the side of his chair.
His other hand lifted briefly beneath my chin.
Not rough.
Worse.
Controlled.
Draven's eyes held mine steadily.
"You keep making one dangerous mistake," he said quietly.
My heartbeat stumbled.
"And what mistake is that?"
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"You assume I'm being nice because I want to be."
The words settled heavily between us.
His thumb shifted slightly beneath my chin before disappearing again.
"I am not a good man, Seraphina."
Low. Certain.
"You've just been fortunate enough to meet me in a good mood."
I couldn't look away.
Not when he was this close.
Not when his voice sounded like that.
Then his gaze flickered briefly across my face before he released my wrist completely and leaned back again as though nothing had happened.
"Go back to bed," he said calmly.
My fingers tightened faintly at my side.
Draven looked back toward the window again.
But this time—
I noticed the slight tension still lingering in his jaw. The restraint in his breathing.
And suddenly—
I understood something terrifying.
He wasn't the only one struggling to maintain control anymore.
****
Sometime deep into the night, I woke shivering.
A weak breath left me as I curled slightly beneath the blankets, my entire body feeling unbearably hot and cold at the same time.
The room was dark now.
Only the faint glow from the dying fireplace painted soft shadows across the walls.
My throat hurt.
My head hurt worse.
I shifted weakly against the pillows before my blurred vision slowly found the familiar figure near the window.
Draven.
Still there.
He sat half-reclined in the chair, eyes closed, one arm resting loosely against the armrest as though he were only pretending to sleep.
Even now— he looked alert.
My chest tightened faintly.
"…Draven."
The whisper barely left my throat.
But his eyes opened immediately.
Sharp. Aware.
They found me within seconds.
"You're awake."
I swallowed painfully.
"I feel terrible."
"You have a fever," he replied calmly, already standing.
The mattress dipped slightly as he moved closer, his hand pressing briefly against my forehead.
His expression darkened faintly.
"You're warmer."
"That sounds concerning."
"It is."
Despite the exhaustion weighing down my body, a weak smile almost appeared.
Draven sighed softly before reaching toward the table nearby where the medicine rested.
"You owe me something for this," he muttered while preparing another dose.
I blinked slowly. "For being sick?"
"For tolerating you."
That earned the smallest breath of laughter from me before another shiver hit.
Draven noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"I'll get another herb mixture from the physicians."
The moment he started stepping away, panic rose unexpectedly inside my chest.
My fingers caught weakly against the sleeve of his shirt.
"Don't go."
He paused.