Chapter 147
Chapter 147
ARTHUR'S POV
FEW DAYS LATER
It had been a long while since I’d seen Jordan so rattled. For years, he had stood by my side through situations that would make most men crumble—gunfire, betrayals, near-death encounters—and yet here he was, pacing across my study like a schoolboy about to confess his first crush. His hands kept dragging down his face, his voice going hoarse with all his whining.
“Arthur, I swear if she says no, just bury me alive,” he groaned, flopping down onto one of the armchairs, only to spring right back up again like the seat was on fire. “I’ll never recover. You’ll have to carry my memory, brother.”
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation. “You’ve faced down worse odds, Jordan. You didn’t cry this much when Victor’s men had guns to your head.”
“That’s because bullets don’t scare me,” he shot back without missing a beat, eyes wide in sheer panic. “But Stella—Stella rejecting me? That’s death without honor. That’s humiliation carved on my tombstone.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. The man was terrified, yes, but under it all, it was because he cared—because he loved her. That was a different kind of courage, one not easily recognized until you were standing on its edge. Still, I wasn’t about to let him spiral into madness, so I told him what I’d been repeating for days now.
“Be optimistic, Jordan. She loves you. That much is clear.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving me off as though optimism could be plucked out of thin air. “But what if she suddenly realizes I’m not worth it? What if she thinks I’m too much baggage?”
He kept spiraling, and Naya, who had been quietly listening by the doorway, finally stepped in, her soft laughter filling the room. “He’s not going to survive this at this rate. Arthur, we should do something before he talks himself into a heart attack.”
That was how it began—this idea to set the stage for him. Something intimate, nothing grand or overwhelming, just enough to let him feel like he wasn’t fumbling in the dark when the moment came. Naya and I worked on it quietly, arranging the pieces in the background while Jordan kept chewing his nails down to nothing.
A few evenings later, the house was quiet, warm lights glowing against the walls. Naya had insisted on a small dinner indoors, something that would keep the air calm and close. She worked her magic—flowers on the table, candles flickering gently, music playing low in the background. I stood back, watching as she set everything in place, marveling, as I always did, at how easily she created comfort out of chaos.
When Stella walked into the room, her eyes lit up immediately at the sight. Elijah was asleep upstairs, and Aunt Nina kept an eye on him, so for once the moment belonged solely to the four of us. Jordan, of course, looked like a man about to walk to the gallows. His palms were sweating, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. I gave him a discreet nod, the kind of reassurance only years of friendship could translate. Now’s the time.
Dinner passed in a blur of nervous laughter and light conversation. I could see Jordan barely tasted a bite of his food; his eyes kept darting to Stella, then to me, then back to his plate. And then, finally, he pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood against the floor pulling all attention to him.
Stella blinked up at him, confused at first, until he dropped to one knee right there by the table.
The silence that followed was so sharp it could cut. Naya’s hand slipped into mine under the table, her grip tight as though she too was holding her breath. Jordan’s voice cracked at first, but then steadied as he poured everything out—his fear, his devotion, his love. I had seen him fight like a lion in battle, but I had never seen him bare himself so vulnerably.
“Stella,” he said, his voice trembling, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough, but I know I don’t want to go another day without you by my side. Will you marry me?”
The world seemed to pause right then. Stella’s face was unreadable for a long, excruciating second—long enough for Jordan’s hand to falter slightly as he held out the ring. I could hear his breath hitch, see the despair creeping into his eyes.
And then she smiled. A soft, radiant smile that spread like sunlight breaking through a storm.
“Yes, Jordan,” she whispered, her voice shaking but sure. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The relief that crashed over Jordan was almost comical. He nearly toppled backward in his rush to stand and pull her into his arms. The room filled with applause—Naya clapping with tears in her eyes, me grinning despite myself, watching as my best friend held the woman he loved like the world had just been handed back to him.
I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the past weeks lifting just a little. For once, there was joy, untainted and simple. And as I watched them, I thought to myself: perhaps this was the victory we had all been fighting for, in one way or another.
That night is etched into me like something I don’t want to ever let slip away. The house was buzzing with the leftover joy from Jordan’s proposal—laughter still lingering in the walls, the echoes of Stella’s tearful yes replaying in my mind like a scene on loop. But when it all quieted down, when everyone retreated to their corners, it was just me and Naya again, just the two of us in the stillness of our room.
She lay against me, her head resting on my chest, her arm draped loosely across my stomach as though she had always belonged there. Her breathing was slow, steady, grounding me in a way nothing else ever could. I found myself tracing idle circles on her arm, each touch reminding me of how far we’d come, of how close I’d almost come to losing her. There was a softness in her tonight—peace mingled with exhaustion—but my mind wouldn’t quiet.
Even with her warmth pressed against me, I felt this ache burrowing into my chest, heavy and insistent. My father’s shadow had never truly left. It lingered behind every victory, every smile, every moment of happiness I allowed myself to taste. And tonight, with the contrast of so much love and acceptance surrounding us, I couldn’t ignore how much I still needed to put certain ghosts to rest.
I tilted my head slightly, brushing my lips against her hair. She hummed, not quite asleep but relaxed enough that I almost didn’t want to break the silence. Yet the words were burning in me.
“Naya…” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.
She shifted slightly, lifting her head just enough to look at me, her eyes glistening in the dim light filtering through the curtains. There was a faint smile on her lips, the kind that told me she was listening even before I said anything.
I exhaled slowly, as though the admission carried weight. “I need to take you somewhere tomorrow.”
Her brows lifted the slightest bit, curiosity sparking. She didn’t ask why, didn’t press me for details. That was the thing about her—she trusted me even when she didn’t understand everything. That trust was a lifeline I didn’t take lightly.
“Where?” she asked softly, her voice still tinged with drowsiness.
I paused, my fingers tightening briefly around her hand. “Somewhere I should’ve gone a long time ago. Somewhere I think I can finally breathe if I go with you.”
Her eyes searched mine for a moment, and I knew she understood without me saying it outright. The way her hand squeezed mine told me she wouldn’t hesitate. She didn’t. “Then we’ll go,” she murmured, simple as that.
It hit me then, how deeply she had woven herself into me. It wasn’t just about love—it was about this unwavering partnership, this quiet promise that no matter how messy my battles were, she would face them beside me.
I kissed her forehead, holding her tighter against me, and for the first time that night, the ache in my chest loosened just enough for me to breathe a little easier. Tomorrow wasn’t going to be e asy, but with her by my side, I finally believed I could face it.