Chapter 62 Olivia #2
The last place I stayed before I left him. Before I thought I had to go back to my family instead of building one with him.
My throat tightens. “My apartment. He furnished it… he hung all my portraits there.”
Ella squeezes my hand, eyes shining. “Then that’s where we’re going next.”
The car glides to a stop in front of my old building. My heart twists as I step out, so many memories embedded in these bricks, some sweet, some jagged.
Ella follows close behind, clutching the bag of macarons like it’s her security blanket. “This is it?”
I nod, nerves buzzing under my skin. “Last place I lived before War”
We head into the lobby, up the elevator, the ride quiet except for Ella crunching on a soft macaron shell. When the doors slide open, I lead the way down the hall. My old door feels both foreign and achingly familiar.
I reach for my bag, then stop short. “I don’t have the key.”
Ella smirks. “Under the carpet?”
I laugh. “Yeah, right. I never kept it there.”
She arches a brow. “Check.”
I roll my eyes, checking anyway, just to humor her, then freeze. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” My fingers close around cool metal. “It’s here.”
I shove the key into the lock, heart hammering, and push the door open.
The breath leaves me all at once.
It’s beautiful.
The apartment has been transformed, every corner softened with white and blush peonies. My flower. Their scent wraps around me like a memory.
I move down the hallway, and my steps falter. Because there they are: the portraits of my family. My mother. My brothers. All framed, aligned neatly along the walls.
And hung amongst them: my portrait. The one from the gallery. My likeness now part of the family gallery, woven into where I belong.
My chest tightens. He didn’t just give me my image in art. He gave me a place.
On the small table beneath it, another black envelope waits.
I tear it open, hands trembling.
You once swore you’d never go back here.
Today, I need you to.
Ask for Vincenzo.
—W
I glance at Ella, the name already on my lips. “La Serenata.”
Her brows lift. “The restaurant?”
I nod, heart racing. “The restaurant.”
Ella grins, slipping her arm through mine. “Guess dinner’s on War.”
La Serenata glows like it always has—soft golden lights spilling through the windows, violins drifting faintly from inside. The kind of place where every meal feels like an event. The kind of place I once swore I’d never set foot in again.
But tonight, my hand is steady as I push open the heavy door. Ella trails behind me, her sundress swishing, eyes wide as she takes it all in.
We approach the hostess stand, and I clear my throat. “We’re here for Vincenzo.”
The hostess blinks once, then her face warms with a smile. “Of course. One moment.”
A minute later, a man in an immaculate suit emerges from the back. Soft brown hair, charming smile, posture like he’s been running this room his entire life. Vincenzo.
“Ms. Baker,” he greets me with a little bow, and from behind his back, he produces a velvet box, black with a satin ribbon. “From Mr. Beaumont.”
My breath hitches as he sets it in my hands. Ella leans close, whispering, “If that’s food, I’m stealing half.”
I laugh, but my fingers tremble as I undo the ribbon. Inside, nestled against silk, are diamond earrings; brilliant, perfect, glittering under the restaurant lights.
Ella’s gasp echoes mine. “Holy—Olivia. Those are huge.”
There’s a note tucked inside, folded small. I pull it free, my pulse racing.
For the woman who makes diamonds look dull.
Put these on, my sweet girl.
Then go to the place where it all started.
Where we first met.
—W
My throat closes around a rush of air.
I know exactly where that is.
Ella watches me, eyes shining. “Where?”
“Beaumont Enterprises.” My voice is barely a whisper, but my chest is soaring.
Ella squeezes my arm, grinning ear to ear. “Then let’s go get you engaged.”
“He can’t really want to propose here,” I laugh nervously as the car pulls up to Beaumont Enterprises. The steel and glass rise sharp against the night sky, every floor lit like a beacon.
Ella just smirks. “Oh, he can. He’s War Beaumont.”
We ride the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. My stomach flips as the doors open to WesTech’s wing. Conference Room A—the place where I first met him, full of tension and fire and intrigue neither of us wanted to name.
The door’s already open.
Inside, Wesley leans casually against the table, a black box in his hands, his smirk just this side of infuriating.
“Olivia,” he greets, pushing off the table. “Back where it all began.”
I blink at him, startled. “You’re in on this?”
“Of course I am.” He grins wider, stepping closer. “The man knows how to delegate.”
He opens the box to reveal a necklace, delicate platinum, diamonds that match the earrings glittering in perfect symmetry.
My breath catches. “It’s beautiful.”
“Turn around.”
I do, hair swept aside as Wesley clasps the necklace around my throat. The cool metal settles against my skin, heavy with meaning.
He squeezes my shoulder lightly. “Good luck, Baker. Last chance to back out.”
I laugh, breathless. “Not a chance.”
He slips a black envelope into my hand. I unfold it.
Amongst the flowers, where I first showed you what forever could feel like.
Meet me there.
—W
Flowers.
I frown, then it hits me all at once.
The conservatory garden.
Our first weekend together, hidden under glass and strung lights, wrapped in roses and orchids. The place that felt like magic.
My chest swells. “The conservatory garden,” I whisper.
Ella loops her arm through mine, eyes glinting with excitement. “Then let’s go find your forever.”
The car rolls to a stop outside the conservatory, its glass dome glittering under the night sky. My pulse is so loud it drowns out the hum of the engine.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing my bag, but Ella doesn’t move.
I frown. “Aren’t you coming?”
She shakes her head, smiling soft and a little teary. “No. This is where you leave me. Good luck, future Mrs. Beaumont.”
My throat tightens. Happy tears sting my eyes as I lean across the seat and crush her in a hug. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Go,” she whispers, nudging me toward the doors.
I step out, heels clicking against the stone path, and push the conservatory doors open.
Inside, it’s breathtaking.
The garden is just as I remember it, quiet, lush, rare, but tonight it glows, dressed for forever. Candles flicker in glass lanterns. Roses and orchids spill over trellises. The cherry tree blooms again, just like that first weekend, pale petals drifting down in a soft, impossible rain.
And under it, waiting, is War.
He stands tall in a black suit, the sharp lines softened by the glow of string lights. His eyes find mine immediately, and for a moment the world falls away.
“Olivia,” he says, voice rough, steadying. He steps closer, every inch of him sure. “You found me.”
The words hit me deep, too deep.
“I was nothing but shadows when you walked in,” he continues.
“A man with too much steel, too many walls, too many ghosts. And then you—” He gestures around us, to the flowers, the light.
“You brought starlight to every inch of my darkness. You turned every shadow into something I could finally stand in without fear.”
My lips tremble. Tears spill over.
“I thought I was building an empire. But what I really built…what I fought for, was a place where you’d stay. Where you’d be mine. And tonight, I don’t want a future without you. I don’t ever want a moment without you.”
He drops to one knee, a small velvet box in his hand, eyes burning into mine like a vow already spoken.
“Olivia Baker,” he says, voice breaking for the first time. “Be my wife. Let me spend every day proving that forever is too short for us.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. My chest is too full; of light, of love, of him.
I drop down in front of him, dress pooling around my knees as I throw my arms around his neck. Laughter spills out of me, unsteady and real. “Of course I’ll marry you,” I whisper against his ear. “Like I’d ever say no.”
War chuckles low in his chest, arms crushing me tighter. When I finally lean back, he’s grinning, relief and triumph flashing in his eyes.
“Give me your hand,” he murmurs.
I hold it out, trembling, and he slides the ring onto my finger, the one I picked out, solid, perfect, glittering under the conservatory lights.
He lifts my hand, kisses the ring, then presses his lips to mine. The kiss is sweet, slow, but underneath it hums that fire that’s always been ours, untamed, undeniable, forever.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, voice dropping low.
“All steps complete,” he smirks triumphant.
“What?” I chuckle.
“It just means you’re mine now. Always.”
Cherry blossoms drift down around us, beautiful and soft and I know there’s no world, no lifetime, where I wouldn’t be his.