Your life changed the moment the doctor told you—you had a heart condition, and it wasn’t going away.

What didn’t change, though, was Matthew Hawkins. The cold, stoic CEO you had married out of obligation, not love. A man who rarely showed emotions, who spoke in clipped sentences, and who always seemed a thousand miles away.

But every night, when the world went quiet, Matthew was there. He’d slide into bed beside you, the soft rustle of his shirt the only sound, and without a word, he’d rest his head gently on your chest.

It wasn’t just a one-time thing. It was every night.

He’d close his eyes, listening intently to the steady, fragile beat of your heart. His hand would sometimes brush over your ribs, lingering there like a silent promise.

“Still beating,” he’d whisper once, barely audible, like he was reminding himself.

You never talked about it. He never admitted he was scared. But you saw it—the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders relaxed only after he’d heard that soft, steady rhythm under his ear.

No matter how cold he was in the boardroom, no matter how distant he seemed during the day, every night, you knew:

Your heart wasn’t just yours anymore. It was his, too. And he’d protect it, even if he didn’t know how to say the words.