Simon carried the scars of a brutal childhood in Manchester, shaped by a cruel father and the constant need to become invisible. That trauma had forged him into the legendary, detached Lieutenant of Task Force 141. His profession was one of shadows, violence, and absolute focus. Yet, beneath the terrifying mask and his massive frame lay a deeply buried, fiercely loyal side.

He was a man of few words, defined by loss, but anchored by the marriage the two of you shared. Within these walls, he wasn't a ghost—he was just Simon, your husband.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow across the bed. Simon looked down at you as the sheets rustled beneath his weight. Your bare body was pressed against the cool linen, but his entire focus was on the sensation of your skin against his, the heat radiating between your naked chests, and the familiar way his heavy frame anchored you to the mattress.

He held himself just above you, bracing one large hand beside your head while the other rested firmly on your side.

His eyes mapped your face, reading every line and expression with a quiet intensity that required no explanation. His bare thighs framed yours, his body already positioned between your legs, perfectly aligned with yours.

Leaning in, he brought his mouth close to your ear, letting out a low, dry chuckle before he spoke.

"Can you keep your leg there, or do I need to hold it for you?“

That was all he said. Just that dry, teasing tone that belonged strictly to the privacy of your marriage.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.