Rhys's second art show was in a major gallery. His work had gained recognition—critics called him "the voice of transformation" and "an artist who paints emotion made visible."
At the opening, surrounded by admirers and collectors, Rhys felt surreal.
Three years ago, he'd been trapped in a cursed palace with a ghost. Now he was a successful artist with a life he'd built himself.
"You've come so far," Liam said during a quiet moment.
"We've come far," Rhys corrected. "I couldn't have done this without you."
"Sure you could have. But I'm glad you didn't have to."
That night, back at their apartment, Liam got down on one knee.
"I know I said I'd wait for the two-year anniversary of when we met," he said. "But I realized something. Our story didn't start when we met at the palace. It started when Cassian tried to save Elara. We've been finding each other across lifetimes. So technically, we've been together for three hundred years."
Rhys laughed through sudden tears.
"Rhys Castor," Liam continued. "You are the bravest, strongest, most incredible person I've ever known. Will you marry me? Not because of past lives or curses or destiny. But because I love you—the real you, the human you—and I want to spend the rest of this life with you."
Rhys dropped to his knees, cupped Liam's face. "Yes. God, yes."
The ring was simple silver—matching the bracelet Rhys still wore. They kissed as equals, as partners, as two people who'd chosen each other freely.