Chapter 7 - The Proposal I Didn't Expect
Six months passed.
Friendship became routine.
Routine became comfort.
Comfort became something we both refused to name.
Damien didn't ask me to return.
I didn't offer.
He sent flowers once.
I returned them.
He laughed when I told him.
“Fair.”
He began rebuilding his life outside Blackwood.
He invested in a technology company.
Started a foundation for workers affected by corporate closures.
Sold the mansion.
Moved into a smaller house by the lake.
He said he was tired of living in rooms that made him feel like a stranger.
I understood.
One winter evening, he invited me to a charity dinner.
I almost refused.
Then I went.
The ballroom was filled with Chicago's wealthiest families.
When I entered, people turned.
Not because I was Damien's wife.
Because I was now the chairwoman of Sterling Vale's new investment division.
Damien saw me.
He smiled.
Not possessively.
Proudly.
After dinner, he found me outside.
Snow was falling.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I have something to give you.”
He handed me a box.
I stared.
“No.”
He laughed.
“You haven't even opened it.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then you're wrong.”
I opened the box.
Inside was not a diamond.
It was a key.
“What is this?”
“The key to my new house.”
I stared.
“I don't want your house.”
“I know.”
“Then why give me the key?”
“Because I want you to know you can come in whenever you want.”
I looked at him.
“No expectations.”
“No expectations.”
“No pressure.”
“None.”
“No manipulation.”
His smile softened.
“Never again.”
I closed the box.
“Thank you.”
We stood in the snow.
Then he said, “I love you.”
My heart stopped.
“I know.”
“I don't want anything from you.”
“I know.”
“I just needed you to hear it without asking you to respond.”
I looked at him.
“You really changed.”
He smiled.
“You were worth changing for.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He frowned.
“I changed for myself.”
I stared at him.
He was right.
And somehow, that made me love him more.
The following spring, I visited his house for the first time.
It was warm.
Simple.
There were books everywhere.
A piano.
Photographs.
No guards standing in hallways.
No business calls at dinner.
No fear.
We cooked together.
We argued over pasta.
We laughed.
And when he reached for my hand, I didn't pull away.
“Emily.”
“Yes?”
“I don't need an answer today.”
“To what?”
He smiled.
“You know.”
I did.
A proposal.
Not for a wedding.
For a second chance.
I placed my hand over his.
“Then don't ask today.”
“Okay.”
We sat quietly.
The next week, I was in a car accident.
Nothing serious.
A driver ran a red light.
My wrist was bruised.
Damien arrived at the hospital before my father.
He looked terrified.
He held my hand.
“I thought I lost you.”
I whispered, “You didn't.”
He closed his eyes.
“I can't go through that again.”
I smiled.
“You don't have to.”
When we returned home, he asked:
“Is there anything I can do?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Stay.”
He nodded.
May you like
“I can do that.”
And he did.
