CHAPTER HUNDRED & EIGHTY-FOUR

CHAPTER HUNDRED & EIGHTY-FOUR
KYLE

There are moments that change you. Moments you can feel—physically feel—your heart stepping into a new beat, your soul locking into place like it’s finally found true north.

This was one of those moments.

Ashley was in my arms, her dress catching in the wind, laughter still lingering at the edges of her lips, and for the first time in my entire life, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Not in a boardroom. Not in a war. Not inside the walls of some empire I rebuilt out of spite and stubbornness.

Here. With her.

She smelled like jasmine and a hint of chocolate from dessert, and when she looked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted just slightly from breathless laughter, I swear my heart stopped just long enough to remind me what mattered most.

Her.

Not legacy. Not power. Not revenge.

Just her.

Ashley caught me staring, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “What? Do I have pasta on my face again?”

I smiled, my voice low. “No. I’m just... taking you in.”

She gave me a look. “You’re being weirdly soft right now. Should I be concerned?”

“You like when I’m soft.”

She shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Mildly.”

I chuckled, brushing my thumb over the back of her hand. “You make it very hard to be romantic, you know that?”

“And yet, here we are,” she said, smirking as she bumped her hip against mine.

God, she was impossible. And perfect.

We swayed a little more beneath the soft lantern glow, our feet moving without thought, like the world had tuned itself to just us. I could’ve stayed in that moment forever—her scent, the feel of her skin against mine, her laughter curling into the night air.

But I’d been holding something in all evening. A weight in my jacket pocket. And in my chest.

“Ashley…” I started.

“Mmhmm?”

“I have something for you.”

She blinked up at me. “Is it more chocolate cake?”

I laughed under my breath. “No, but I love that your brain went straight there.”

“Well, you trained me,” she said, eyes gleaming.

I slipped one hand into my pocket, the velvet box pressing against my palm like a second heartbeat. It felt heavy—not from the weight of what was inside, but from everything it represented. Every mistake. Every second I’d spent trying to fix the wrong things while breaking the one thing that ever truly mattered.

Her eyes widened the moment I sank to one knee. I could see it all cross her face—shock, disbelief, the soft tremble of her lips as they parted, like she didn’t dare hope.

I opened the box.

And for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Because how do you find the right words for the woman who saved you from becoming your father?

How do you ask for forever when you nearly destroyed everything in the name of ambition?

But she waited.

Like she always did.

“I spent years chasing the illusion of control,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Telling myself that if I could just keep everything perfect—every deal, every meeting, every step forward—then I wouldn’t become him.”

A breath. Shaky. Unsteady.

“But in trying to control everything, I lost the one thing I was never supposed to lose. I put my business before you. My pride. My fear. My pathetic, hollow version of what I thought success looked like. And I will never—” My voice cracked. “—forgive myself for the way I made you feel like you came second.”

Her eyes filled, and I had to clench my jaw just to hold myself together.

“You were never second, Ashley. Not really. You were the air, and I was too blind to realize I’d stopped breathing.”

I reached for her free hand, kissing the back of it.

“I look at you now, and I see the woman who made it anyway. Who built something beautiful from everything I shattered. And I swear to you, I will spend every single day for the rest of my life proving that I see you now. That I cherish you. That I choose you—not when it’s convenient, not when the world’s quiet—but always.”

I took a deep breath, the kind that feels like confession and forgiveness all in one.

“You taught me that love isn’t about control. It’s about surrender. And if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life surrendering—my ego, my pride, my damn schedule—to make you feel loved every single day.”

I tightened my grip on her hand.

“I want a future with you that’s not built on apology but on promise. I want mornings with you tangled in my arms and nights arguing over what movie to watch. I want every stupid dance, every burnt meal, every laugh, every second.”

My voice lowered.

“I want you, Ashley. Not as a chapter I ruined, but as the whole story.”

The ring glinted in the candlelight between us.

“Will you marry me again? Not because we forgot how to love, but because we finally remembered how to fight for it.”

For a second, the world stood still.

Just me, kneeling before the only woman I’d ever loved, a velvet box open in my hand, and the weight of a thousand regrets tangled with one fragile hope.

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Then her eyes—those wild, soft, stubborn eyes—filled with tears.

She didn’t speak. She choked on a breath, her shoulders trembling, and I could see her whole body trying to catch up with her heart.

And then—“Yes.”

The word came out broken. Raw. Beautiful.

“Yes,” she said again, stronger this time. “Yes, Kyle. God, I will.”

Before I could breathe, she was in my arms, crashing down into my chest, wrapping herself around me like she had no intention of ever letting go again.

I kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Like I’d been drowning in the idea of her and just now surfaced to find her real and warm and impossibly mine.

I felt her tears on my face and didn’t care if they were hers or mine anymore. My hands shook as I held her, as I slid the ring onto her finger.

This time, we weren’t running on brokenness and hope.

We were walking back into love with our eyes wide open.

And then—boom.

A low, thunderous crack split the air, followed by a shower of light that burst across the glass dome above us.

Ashley gasped, jerking in my arms as the first firework lit up the sky.

Another followed. Then another. Gold and violet. White and red. All of them glittering against the high, curved ceiling of the conservatory like the stars had come to celebrate with us.

She pulled back, staring up at the sky, then down at me. “Did you—?”

I shrugged, pretending to play it cool. “Had a feeling I’d need some dramatic flair.”

She let out a watery laugh that hit me straight in the heart.

“You really don’t do things halfway, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

She leaned in again, her hands framing my face, and kissed me soft this time. Slow. Like we had all the time in the world.

And for the first time since I could remember, I felt like we actually did.

The fireworks exploded above us, loud and wild.

But beneath them, everything felt quiet. Safe. Full.

Her hand in mine.

My name on her lips.

And that ring—finally—on her finger.

We weren’t perfect.

We were better.

We were us.

And this time, we weren’t falling.

We were choosing.

Every damn day.