His POV

It was past midnight when I finally got home. The car was still warm when I left it in the garage. Everything about today felt like it was waiting to explode—back-to-back meetings, investor pressure, endless reports, and too many people telling me to "stay calm" like they had any idea what I was holding together.

I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I didn’t need to see to know my way around. My body knew this house better than my head did tonight.

I walked straight to the backyard. Threw my jacket on the couch, loosened my tie, unbuttoned my shirt halfway there. Belt off, pants gone. I didn’t stop until I was at the edge of the pool, wearing nothing but boxers.

The water was cold. Good. I needed that.

I dove in. No hesitation. No sound. Just silence.

Underwater, the world disappeared. Pressure, deadlines, expectations—none of it existed there. Down there, I could breathe.

I floated. Eyes shut. Chest rising, falling, slower now. But my mind was still racing.

Then I heard her steps on the deck.

I opened my eyes.

She was standing there. Messy hair. Loose sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder. Soft shorts peeking out from under the hem. Holding a folded towel in her arms.

"You didn’t shower yet?" she asked gently, voice low, sleepy.

I let out the faintest smile. Couldn’t help it. "This counts," I murmured. "The deluxe version."

She walked closer and sat by the pool’s edge, dipping her feet into the water.

The ripples reached me. Her presence reached me faster.

I swam toward her slowly, stopping just in front of her legs. My fingers grazed her ankle—just to feel that she was real. That she was here.

"You should be asleep," I said, still catching my breath. "I didn’t wake you, did I?"

She shook her head gently. "You never wake me."

I looked at her for a long second. Hair a little frizzy, one shoulder bare, hand gripping the towel like it was something sacred.

She didn’t comment on me being half-naked, soaked, and out here like a madman. She didn’t tease. Didn’t ask if I needed to be “comforted” the way other people might assume a wife should.

She just sat there. Quietly. Holding space.

And somehow, just from that, the chaos in my chest started to loosen its grip.

"Thank you," I said softly.

She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to.

She always knew.