Chapter 55
Chapter fifty-five
Emma
The week had been strange.
Not bad strange.
Not the kind of strange that made my stomach clench and my mind spiral into worst-case scenarios.
But tonight we had a date.
A chance to reconnect.
I turned toward the mirror, smoothing my hands down the fabric of my dress.
The same one Candace had pulled from my closet as I prepared to meet Read.
My choice, not Damien's.
Dark red.
Skin tight.
A dress that left very little to the imagination and even less room for underwear lines.
That first time I'd been horrified to wear it, claiming it showed every horrible flaw.
But now, the woman looking back at me was sexy. Desirable.
And I knew once Damien laid his gaze on me, it would darken, trailing me from head to toe, heat and hunger barely leashed behind that careful control.
Which was why I'd chosen the black lace set currently hidden beneath it—delicate, barely-there, and entirely intentional.
Tonight I had plans of my own.
I grabbed my clutch from the counter, gave myself one last look—you've got this—and headed downstairs.
Harold was already waiting at the curb, unnervingly wide smile in place.
I slid into the back seat.
The city blurred past the window as I clicked on Candace's name.
Me: How's the newly official girlfriend thing going?
After months of watching them dance around each other—the longing glances, the almost-confessions—they'd finally stopped pretending.
Thank God.
Candace seemed happier than I'd ever seen her. Lighter. Softer.
I waited, thumb hovering over the screen, expecting the usual flood of messages.
The latest and greatest thing Sebastian had done. A string of emojis. A voice note that was ninety percent squealing.
Nothing.
I frowned, tapping the screen once like that might summon a response.
Still nothing.
With a sigh I tucked the phone back into my clutch.
She was probably busy. Wrapped up in Sebastian.
I could hardly blame her for that.
My lips curved as we pulled up to the curb—the familiar glass and steel tower catching the last streaks of sunset.
I thanked Harold, grabbed my clutch, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Heads turned.
A man in a tailored suit did a double take, nearly walking into a parking meter.
A woman with a stroller glanced over, then looked again, her brows climbing.
Before, I would have shrunk. Ducked my head. Crossed my arms over my body.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I held my head high.
Let them look.
I gave my hips a switch. Enough to make the fabric shift.
Enough to feel the power of it hum beneath my skin.
The doorman pulled the glass door open with a polite smile.
I stepped inside, crossed the lobby, and punched in the code for the penthouse at the elevator.
The doors slid shut, and the elevator began its climb.
A moment later it announced my arrival—the doors sliding open onto Damien's foyer.
The space was quiet. Warm light spilled from floor to ceiling windows, golden and inviting.
"Damien?" I called, stepping inside.
"Outside!" His voice drifted back, distant but familiar—a thread I could follow anywhere.
I set my clutch on the entryway table and moved toward the terrace doors.
My gaze drifted as I walked.
The bookshelf.
Our hidden door.
The playroom.
A shiver traced down my spine—anticipation, not nerves.
Maybe tonight, after dinner, after whatever Damien had planned, I'd ask him for a scene.
Let him take me apart and put me back together again.
Let the world go quiet for a little while.
The terrace doors stood open, a warm breeze drifting through, carrying the scent of roses.
You've got to be kidding me.
I smiled as I took in the soft glow of the setting sun.
Then I froze.
The air went solid in my lungs, suspended in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
The terrace had been transformed.
Roses—hundreds of them—cascaded along the railings in waves of deep crimson. Fairy lights threaded through the blooms, just beginning to pulse as the sky deepened its blues.
A table for two sat at the center, draped in white linen.
And Damien.
Standing at the edge of it all, hands in his pockets, watching me like nothing else on that terrace existed.
He crossed the terrace toward me, each step unhurried, deliberate—like he was savoring the moment.
"Hi," he murmured, voice low and warm.
"Hi yourself." I tilted my head, letting a smile tug at my mouth. "Two dates in a row, Mr. Holt? I'm going to start expecting this every time."
"Good," he said. "You should."
"You've set the bar dangerously high, you know."
His mouth curved, that familiar confident edge sliding into place. "I've always liked a challenge."
I laughed, leaning into him. His arms wrapped around me, but they were—
Shaking.
"Damien?" I searched his face. "What's going on?"
He didn't answer.
I looked up at him through my lashes.
His face had gone ashen. Sweat beading his hairline.
"What—"
"Come with me," he said at last, taking my hand.
He laced his fingers through mine and led me across the terrace. Toward the balcony, where the skyline glowed amber against the deepening night.
Damien stopped at the edge, the city spread out behind him like a promise.
The breeze caught a strand of my hair, and he reached up, tucking it behind my ear. His touch lingered at my jaw, reverent.
Trembling.
"Emma," he said softly.
"Damien," I said back with a smile.
"You've had my heart from the beginning," he continued, voice rough around the edges.
What the fuck is happening.
"Damien—"
"Let me finish." His hand found my chin, tilting my face to his. "I never thought I'd be capable of this. I'd convinced myself I wasn't built for it. That something in me was just… missing."
"But then I called Elion. And I heard your voice for the first time. Heard you say my name." His gaze searched mine. "And I knew, Emma. Right then. Before I'd ever seen your face. Before Marina's. Before it all."
"I told you that night," he said softly, "that seeing you on that app felt like divine intervention."
His mouth curved—not playful, not tentative. Certain.
"And now I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
"The way you lick cheese from your fingers when we eat pizza. The sound of your feet slapping the floor in that adorable way of yours. Your terrifying intelligence."
He stepped closer, the world narrowing to us.
"A future," he said quietly. "With you. Only you."
Then he kissed me.
Soft. Reverent.
Like I was something sacred he'd been trusted to hold.
When he pulled back—
"I love you."
Those words.
The ones I'd ached to hear. The ones I'd whispered into his chest a hundred times—in the dark, in the morning light, in the quiet moments between breaths—never expecting them back.
But now—
From his mouth.
In his voice.
For me.
My knees buckled.
His hands caught my waist, steadying me.
"You—" I pulled back, searching his face through blurred vision. "This is the best night of my life."
Damien smiled—slow, tender, devastating.
"I hope I can make it better."
And then he dropped to one knee.
The ground shifted beneath me.
Every thought, every breath, every function of my body—gone.
And Damien—Damien was on his knee, looking up at me like I held his entire universe in my hands.
Then—
A squeal.
A gasp.
My head whipped toward a potted hedge near the far railing, where three familiar faces were peering through the leaves with all the subtlety of children caught stealing cookies.
Candace. Sebastian. Rosie.
Candace had both hands clamped over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sebastian was grinning like an idiot, arm wrapped around her waist. And Rosie—Rosie was openly sobbing, wiping a handkerchief across her cheeks.
Damien laughed, the sound warm and unbothered. "You were supposed to be quiet."
"I'm sorry," Candace whisper-shrieked. "But look at her face—"
"Focus," Sebastian muttered, tugging her back behind the leaves.
Damien turned back to me, and everything else fell away.
The tears were falling freely now, streaming down my cheeks.
This isn't real.
My brain had short-circuited somewhere between I love you and his knee hitting the ground.
He took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry I made you wait this long. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the words when you deserved them. But I'm done being a coward."
He reached into his pocket.
And pulled out a small velvet box.
"What the fuck?" The question fell from my lips.
The corner of his mouth twitched. The hinge opened with a soft click.
A diamond caught the fairy lights—massive, oval-cut, glittering like captured starlight on a simple white gold band. Elegant. Timeless. Perfect.
My hand flew to my mouth.
I looked back to Damien.
Tears lined his eyes now too, his composure finally cracking.
"Emma Sinclair," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Will you marry me?"
My heartbeat pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
But he waited, chest heaving and hands shaking.
I love you.
And now this.
Him. On one knee. A ring in his hands. Waiting for my answer.
I'd never—
A sob tore from my chest.
"Yes," I choked out. Then louder, clearer, with every ounce of certainty I possessed—"Yes."
And the whole terrace exploded.
Candace's shriek.
Rosie's sob.
Sebastian's whoop.
But Damien didn't move—still on his knee, still looking up at me.
His hands found mine, steady now, and he slid the ring onto my finger like he'd been waiting his whole life.
The diamond caught the fairy lights. The weight of it settled against my skin.
His. Finally. Completely his.
Then he was standing, crushing me against his chest, his mouth finding mine through laughter and tears and the taste of everything we'd lived.
My knees buckled—again—and his arms tightened, catching me.
"I've got you," he murmured against my lips. "I've always got you."
Then Rosie hit us like a freight train of jasmine perfume, and Candace was there, and Sebastian, and we were all crying and laughing on this terrace above the city, above everything that had ever tried to break us.
When the chaos finally settled, I pulled back just enough to look at my hand. At the ring. At the man who'd put it there.
"I love you," I said.
Damien smiled—that real smile, the one that crinkled his eyes and made my heart stutter every single time.
"I love you too," he said.
And meant it.