Chapter 322
Chapter 322
His voice took on a hoarseness even he didn't notice.
"Now, in front of the entire world, I'm asking you again."
"Calista. My scientist. My wife... My salvation."
"You already have a world of your own. Now, will you—considering I'm at least somewhat useful at shielding you from unnecessary trouble—reserve a place for me in your world?"
"Marry me. On your terms. Not as a Frost family daughter-in-law, not as a Frost Group investment target. Just marry this man."
The entire Blue Hall fell so silent you could hear heartbeats.
Every gaze focused on the woman in the white dress onstage.
Calista's face showed neither wild joy nor shyness.
She simply looked at Gary kneeling before her, at the light in his eyes, at that one-of-a-kind ring.
Time seemed to stretch in that moment.
One second felt like a century.
Calista's gaze slowly moved from the unique ring to Gary's face.
He looked up at her, and those eyes that could terrify business opponents now held no calculation—only a sincerity so naked it was almost vulnerable.
He'd lowered himself completely, placing all choice unreservedly in her hands.
Calista didn't move.
Didn't speak.
The guests below unconsciously softened their breathing, afraid to disturb this sacred yet strange scene.
One second.
Two seconds.
Just as the light in Gary's eyes began to show the faintest tremor of doubt, Calista finally moved.
She bent down and extended her hand.
But her hand didn't reach for the velvet box with the ring.
Instead, she grasped Gary's hand.
Calista's hand was cool, bearing the thin calluses from years of handling lab equipment, the texture distinct.
She didn't pull hard, just touched lightly, then lifted gently.
A silent gesture telling him to rise.
Gary froze.
He rose slowly with her movement, his gaze still fixed on her face, trying to read something from it.
Calista straightened as well. Without looking at anyone below, she took the microphone from Gary's hand.
The cool metal helped her focus.
"Thank you."
She spoke, her voice quiet but carrying clearly through the speakers to every corner of the Blue Hall.
That "thank you" was for Gary.
She turned to face hundreds of gazes below, her expression as calm as if opening an academic presentation.
"Many people believe marriage is proof of love, the ultimate destination of a relationship. A grand proposal, an expensive ring—these seem like necessary rituals."
Calista's voice was measured, carrying the logic and structure characteristic of a researcher.
"But in my view, love isn't a theorem that needs proving. It's more like an ongoing experimental project."
Below, scholars and professors from top universities unconsciously sat straighter, their faces showing interest.
This metaphor they understood.
"Its validity doesn't depend on how grand the project launch ceremony is, but on day-to-day observation, documentation, communication, and adjustment."
Calista's gaze swept across the crowd, finally landing on her team members—those young faces filled with admiration and recognition.
"In a good relationship, respect matters more than promises. Companionship lasts longer than ceremony."
She finished and gently set down the microphone.
Then she turned back to Gary.
Under the world's gaze, she reached her conclusion—for him, and for herself.
"Gary, we don't need another wedding to prove anything."
This statement carried even greater impact than Gary's kneeling.
It wasn't a rejection.
But it wasn't acceptance either.
It was an answer that transcended conventional responses.
Media reporters below had already flashed through dozens of different headline versions, but each felt inadequate to describe what was unfolding.
Gary stood there, looking at Calista.
He looked into her clear eyes, which held no mockery or evasion, only frank statement.
She wasn't rejecting him as a person.
She was rejecting the form of "proposal" itself.
Calista had expressed her firmest position in the gentlest way.
She didn't need a ceremony witnessed by the world to crown her feelings.
In her world, she was already queen. She needed no one's coronation.
After several seconds of dead silence.
Gary suddenly laughed.
A low chuckle at first, then louder, his chest rising and falling until finally his laughter carried a sense of relief and... indulgence.
He'd lost.
Lost completely.
Yet willingly.
Gary put away the velvet box, casually returning it to his pocket as if that earth-shattering kneel had been merely a harmless improvised performance.
He extended his hand—not to hold hers, but to hover protectively behind Calista, saying softly in a guarding posture, "Alright. Whatever you say."
He said nothing more.
No pressing. No clinging. Not even a trace of disappointment.
Only complete acceptance and respect.
Below, someone started clapping.
The applause grew from sparse to dense, finally swelling into a thunderous tide that echoed endlessly beneath the Blue Hall's magnificent dome.
These elites from around the world weren't applauding for a scientific miracle or capital's victory.
They were celebrating two equally powerful, equally proud souls finding a completely new way of being together—one entirely their own.
A Zephyrian royal stroked his white beard and murmured to the Prime Minister beside him, "Young people today understand life better than we did."
The editors of Nature and Science exchanged smiles, already composing next issue's editorial headlines in their minds.
And the young people from the institute were flushed with excitement.
Dr. Softhart was just that cool!
Never following convention, yet always making the right choice!
Amid the tide of applause, Gary guided Calista off the stage.
No awkwardness. No embarrassment.
They stood side by side—one cool, one deep, yet strangely harmonious.
The gala continued.
But no one dared approach casually anymore, using business cooperation or academic exchange as pretexts to disturb those two.
They simply watched from afar.
Watched Gary bring Calista a glass of warm water. Watched Calista naturally accept it and take a light sip.
No intimate conversation. No deliberate eye contact.
But everyone knew that from tonight, these two people's relationship had entered an entirely new era.
Not an investor bound to a scientist.
Not a society marriage between wealthy families.
But something unique—a connection belonging only to Calista and Gary, stripped of all social identities and worldly definitions.
In a corner of the gala, Leo watched dumbstruck, finally sidling up to Gary and whispering, "Mr. Frost, the... ring..."
Gary's gaze never left Calista.
He watched her discussing something in low tones with a young researcher from her team, her eyes focused and gentle.
"Keep it," he said lightly.
"Huh?" Leo didn't catch on.
"There'll be opportunities." Gary said. "Experiments eventually succeed."
Leo paused, then broke into a brilliant smile.
He understood.
This was preparing for the long game.
A proposal didn't have to be one-time.
It could be a lifetime's work.
As long as the person was right, every time would be the first time.
...
Life didn't pause because of that night's commotion.
The Project Spark Institute's European headquarters settled into routine. Subsequent clinical trials and data optimization proceeded methodically.
Calista remained that figure in a white lab coat, moving between laboratory and data center.
And Gary truly delivered on his promise to "shield her from unnecessary trouble."
Any forces attempting to pressure Calista through media, capital, or even academic circles—he neutralized them one by one with methods both subtle and absolutely firm.
He built an invisible moat around her scientific fortress, keeping all disturbances at bay.
Their dynamic also entered a delicate balance.
No deliberate tenderness, but no business-partner formality either. He would, like a precise biological clock, place a perfectly warmed glass of water beside her after all-night experiments. She would remind him about his stomach medication after he finished cross-continental video conferences.
They were like two planets orbiting in their own paths, not interfering with each other yet bound by invisible gravity, maintaining a stable and harmonious system.
And Ethan was this system's brightest little star.
He quickly adapted to Zephyrian life, learned to trade toys with the neighbor's kids in halting Zephyrian, even fell in love with the local meatballs and lingonberry jam.
Everything was good—so good Calista almost believed life would continue this peacefully.
Until an encrypted email shattered that tranquility.
The sender: the National Academy of Sciences back home.
The email was brief, its wording rigorous and earnest.
One core message: the nation planned to build a national-level biomedical research facility in Seaside City, centered on Project Spark Institute's technology, and hoped she—Calista—would return home as Chief Scientist to lead the effort.
This wasn't a business invitation. This was a summons from her homeland.