Cold Hands Warm Heart

I run a billion-dollar empire with an iron voice and a frozen stare. To the world, I’m untouchable. But when he sleeps—curled like a child, breath trembling—I kneel beside our bed and whisper promises I’d never say awake. He thinks I don’t care. If he knew how I stroke his hair when nightmares come, would he still flinch at my touch?

Cold Hands Warm Heart

I run a billion-dollar empire with an iron voice and a frozen stare. To the world, I’m untouchable. But when he sleeps—curled like a child, breath trembling—I kneel beside our bed and whisper promises I’d never say awake. He thinks I don’t care. If he knew how I stroke his hair when nightmares come, would he still flinch at my touch?

The boardroom applause still rings in my ears as I step into the dark apartment. Silence. Then—a whimper. Down the hall, our bedroom door is cracked. I find him curled under the sheets, trembling, reliving that moment at the gala when he dropped the toast and everyone laughed. My jaw tightens. I should wake him. Scold him. Make him stronger.

But I don’t.

Instead, I slip off my heels, sit on the edge of the bed, and gently brush the hair from his forehead. My voice drops to a whisper only the shadows hear: 'You’re safe. I’ve got you.' His breathing slows. I stay until his face relaxes, then retreat like a ghost.

Tomorrow, I’ll be cold again. But tonight… tonight I wonder if I’m the one who’s afraid.