The blue-tinged parlor felt suddenly heavy, as though someone had drawn thick curtains over the world and trapped us inside a space where only honesty existed. The ornate wall paneling, the glint of mirrored accents, the velvet sofa beneath my hand—all of it felt distant, almost unreal, compared to the man standing in front of me.
He wasn't just standing—he was looking at me. Looking at me in a way that was unguarded, raw, painfully sincere.
"Are you proposing to me?" I asked.
The words left my lips smoothly, but inside, my heart staggered violently against my ribs.
"Yes," he said. No hesitation. No flinch. Just truth. "Why aren't you giving me an answer?"
I closed my eyes for a brief, grounding second. "I wasn't expecting to receive a proposal out of the blue." My voice sounded calm—too calm—but in reality, my mind was racing, tumbling, tripping over every thought and emotion that rose inside me.
He continued, the gravity of his confession building with each word.
"…And someday, on the date and time you and I agree upon… I'll protect you. So promise me before you go that when the time comes, you'll marry me."
I looked up.
And there it was—the emotion I had never seen from him before, or perhaps had never allowed myself to acknowledge. Unfamiliar. Disarming. Overwhelming. His eyes glistened, not from weakness but from the sheer force of what he felt.
"…And as I hear each careful word of your confession…" I murmured, almost to myself, "…I learn that even without saying the words outright… you can tell someone you love them."
The realization hit me like a crashing wave.
He loved me.
The truth of it was so immense, so unexpected, that I felt my own eyes heat, my vision blurring as tears pooled. I was teary—not because I was sad, but because something inside me had been suddenly, unavoidably unraveled.
He reached for me.
And when our hands met, when his warm, steady grip enveloped my trembling fingers, all the tangled emotions inside me surged upward at once.
"…Swept up in this whirlwind of unfamiliar emotion, I can't find the courage to utter a single word."
My silence wasn't rejection—it was the stunned, breathless acceptance of someone finally being seen, finally being chosen.
His vow wasn't flowery or symbolic. It was practical. Fierce. A promise to stand between me and the world.
He had shown his love in the only way he knew how: with a commitment so earnest it stole the ground from beneath my feet.
The answer was yes.
It had always been yes.
But the weight of it left me speechless.
---
"I'll protect you. So promise me before you go that when the time comes, you'll marry me."
His proposal echoed in the air, delicate as glass and just as breakable. Tears still lingered on my lashes, but for a fleeting moment, something altogether different cut through the haze—logic.
Practicality.
Caution.
Old habits.
"I appreciate your offer to protect me, but what do you mean by that?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of vulnerability and confusion.
He blinked, clearly not expecting the question. But his sincerity didn't waver.
"Did you think I'd be completely powerless once I leave the Serenity family?"
He leaned closer, brushing my cheek with a tenderness that clashed with the bluntness of his next question.
"Well… what do you have left? You really thought that?"
My breath hitched.
Then he delivered the line that froze me in place:
"Once you leave this household, all you have is… what else, besides an old house your grandfather left you? You must've been penniless when you left your family, too. So I need to take responsibility and provide for you."
I stared at him.
Absolutely stunned.
Then—
A single, ridiculous, uncontainable thought burst inside my head:
He thinks I'm destitute.
The sound that escaped me was half-choked, half-amused.
CHUCKLE.
He immediately frowned, offended that I dared to laugh in the middle of his dramatic vow.
"Why are you laughing? Am I wrong?"
"Yes, I suppose you might think that," I managed, wiping at a stray tear. It was absurd—utterly absurd—to hear someone speak as though marrying me was an act of financial charity.
"I've just never heard anyone say something like that to me before."
His scowl deepened, suspicion replacing wounded pride.
"There must be something I'm not aware of. Does he have other assets?"
I leaned into him slightly, a mischievous glint forming through the lingering emotion.
A soft SNIFFLE escaped me—this one born of laughter, not sorrow.
"I'll ask Raul about it later."
His belief that I was some helpless, penniless damsel was so wrong…
and yet, so endearing.
So uniquely him.
He offered me protection, stability, a future—thinking I had none.
And his sincerity… that was the part I treasured most.
---
My shaky SNIFFLE lingered in the air between us, but the absurdity of his assumption—that I was some destitute young woman he had to rescue with his worldly wealth—had cut clean through the suffocating tension. When I lifted my gaze to him again, it was with a chagrined, playful look, conceding, "Yes, I suppose you might think that."
He didn't return the lightness.
Not even a little.
He maintained that serious, calculating expression, eyes narrowing slightly as though he were conducting a financial assessment in his head. He glanced away, contemplative, no doubt imagining the disastrous state of my bank accounts.
"There must be something I'm not aware of," he muttered. "Does he have other assets? I'll ask Raul about it later."
I nearly burst into laughter again—ask Raul about it later—as if my entire future hinged on the result of an audit.
But the sound that escaped my lips next… wasn't laughter.
It was my own voice speaking a truth I didn't know I had been holding inside.
"Still…"
The moment I said the word, he stopped. He didn't interrupt, didn't look confused—he simply took my hand again. A firm GRASP, warm and steady, grounding me in the soft blue glow of the parlor.
I met his eyes.
And the full force of what I felt crashed into me all at once.
"I'm quite touched… that I could have nothing and still be enough for you."
My heart pulsed hard—BA-BUMP.
Heat climbed my cheeks—BLUSH sweeping in before I could steel myself.
"Because it means you want me," I continued, voice trembling, "even without honor, status, or wealth."
His expression softened.
No—melted.
A genuine smile spread across his face, gentle enough to undo me completely. When he stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, his devotion shined through his eyes like morning light breaking through storm clouds.
So he's capable of smiling sweetly like that too…
BA-BUMP.
Another tremor shook my chest.
I glanced down at his hand against my cheek, fingers trembling slightly as the reality of the proposal—his proposal—finally settled into place.
"In any case," I murmured, half to myself, "I'm glad he seems happy about my proposal."
My thoughts were spiraling, running ahead of me.
His earlier explanation replayed in my mind:
My entire life has been about taking responsibility for something or someone…
"So hearing that you decided to take responsibility for me…" I confessed softly, "is both amusing and adorable."
The sweetness and intensity of his gaze unfurled something fragile inside me.
"Oh gosh… I can't meet his eyes."
My head TURNED just slightly, heat blooming furiously in my cheeks.
BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP.
My heartbeat was a frantic drum fighting against my ribs.
He waited patiently, giving me space, letting me breathe. Then he spoke again—firm, steady, decisive.
"But you still haven't replied to my question. Can you give me your answer?"
I swallowed.
I already knew what I wanted.
He was the answer, no matter what he believed about my finances.
"My resolve is clear," I whispered. "What matters is that both of us feel the same way… about reuniting when the time comes."
His voice lowered, still insistent.
"That's another matter. You're not going to promise me?"
I met his gaze—so intense, so openly vulnerable beneath all his seriousness. My heart softened.
"That's another matter," I echoed gently.
Then, with a breath that felt like a vow in itself:
"The answer to your question is yes."
I watched relief bloom in his eyes—a fleeting, bright crack in his stoic façade. He didn't wait for me to elaborate or tease him or confess the truth about my hidden fortune.
Instead—
He moved.
With one swift, decisive motion, he bent and lifted me into his arms, bridal style.
"Let's go to bed. I need to be somewhere early in the morning."
"HUH—?! What? EXCUSE ME?!"
My hands flew to his shoulders, clinging on reflex. "I was sleepy, but I stayed up waiting for you!"
He didn't slow, didn't waver.
STRIDE. STRIDE. STRIDE.
His steps were purposeful, taking us out of the parlor and down the hall in one steady sweep.
"Hey—wait—" I sputtered. "This isn't how I expected the conversation to go—"
But he just kept walking.
"HEY! PROMISE ME! PROMISE ME ALREADY!" he yelled dramatically over his shoulder, as though I were halfway across a battlefield instead of in his arms.
I laughed breathlessly. "PROMISE ME!"
He demanded the words.
But he didn't need them.
I was already in his arms.
And that was the promise.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, gilding the room in warm gold. I sat behind my desk in a high-neck lace blouse, hands clasped, staring at the document in front of me without truly reading it.
My thoughts drifted—back to last night, to the proposal, to the man who thought I needed saving and vowed to do it anyway.
The door opened gently.
"Lady Serena? Lady Serena, it's Logan. May I come in?"
Logan—my Head of Staff—stood at the doorway. Normally composed, today he wore an expression of barely concealed concern.
I nodded, still lost in the haze of memory.
"…" He hesitated, shuffling forward. "If you're busy, I'll come back later." His voice was unusually quiet, the room seeming to dim with his worry.
Then, with earnest eyes:
"Is something the matter? She was late for work this morning and has seemed uneasy all day…"
I straightened, finally managing a professional demeanor.
Uneasy? Hardly.
Simply… intensely distracted by the man who had singlehandedly turned my orderly world upside down.
"No, Logan. Come in," I said, voice steady. "What is it you need?"
The rest of the day blurred together in a flurry of paperwork, quiet halls, and my own wandering thoughts. Even Logan's worry, lingering in the doorway of my office, felt distant compared to the weight of last night's vow.
By the time I left the Serenity Hotel, the sky had already darkened. The car glided smoothly along the road, humming a low, steady VROOM, carrying me back to the one place where my heart seemed incapable of resting.
When I arrived at the manor, the exterior lights glowed softly against the night. Inside, a maid stood waiting near the grand staircase, hands clasped.
"Welcome home, Lady Serena. You're home late. There must've been a lot of work to do at the hotel."
I headed up the stairs, the quiet echo of my footsteps sounding heavier than usual. The maid followed, her tone shifting to gentleness.
"What about Grandma?" I asked, attempting to keep the tremor from my voice.
"I spoke with Dr. Lennon about thirty minutes ago. He said she's doing all right. She still hasn't regained consciousness, but her seizures have mostly stopped thanks to the new medicine."
A long, silent breath escaped me. Relief, fragile and trembling, settled in my shoulders. Even the chaos of last night's proposal couldn't eclipse the fear surrounding my grandmother's condition.
"She was in a foul mood this morning when she went to work, and it looks like it hasn't improved any," the maid said softly, trying to lighten the mood. It was unmistakably about me.
"You must be tired. Have you had dinner?"
"Yes… a quick one at the hotel."
"I see. Oh—Sir Eiser is in the tearoom on the second floor. Should I send up some refreshments?"
My steps halted mid-stair, my head snapping up with a sharp TURN.
"Eiser's home?"
A flutter of excitement rose in my chest—sudden, unbidden, uncontained. Last night's words echoed through my mind like a private vow: Promise me.
He had said he needed to leave early. I hadn't expected him back so soon.
"Yes," she continued. "He arrived about an hour ago. Raul said his meeting ended early so he returned—"
But I didn't hear the rest.
RUSH!
A burst of energy shot through me, shoving away my exhaustion. I hurried up the stairs, barely aware of my appearance—still in my work dress and stockings, hair pinned haphazardly, the day's fatigue clinging to me only moments before.
By the time I reached the second floor, my heart was pounding.
The maid's alarmed voice chased after me from below:
"AH, LADY SERENA! YOU'RE STILL ONLY IN YOUR SLIP—!"
I paused only for an instant. Realizing she meant my simple indoor slip dress—far too informal for receiving guests—made me wave a dismissive hand. I didn't care. Not tonight.
I quickly smoothed my hair and steadied my breathing as I approached the tearoom.
He had said those words last night—words that hadn't left my mind all day.
I needed to see him again.
I needed to answer him properly.
I took one last breath and stepped into the room.
The tearoom was softly lit, warm lamplight settling over polished wood and deep cushions. Through the tall arched windows, the night sky shimmered faintly.
And there he was.
Eiser sat with one arm resting casually over the back of the couch, his tie loosened, a half-empty glass in hand. When he looked up and saw me, his expression hardened instantly.
"You… why are you walking around the second floor dressed like that?" His brow furrowed sharply. His tone was reprimanding; his eyes definitely disapproving.
But I ignored it.
I crossed the room slowly, deliberately, the urgency that had carried me up the stairs settling into a deep, unwavering resolve. When I finally stood before him, looking down at his face, the exhaustion of the entire day fell away.
"I thought about it all day," I said quietly, "but I still don't understand."
His brows lifted slightly, waiting.
"Don't you want to marry me again?"
He set down his glass. The frown on his face softened, replaced by that familiar, stubborn seriousness I knew too well.
"It's not like that," he began. "Like I said, no need to make a promise like that if we both feel the same way."
He was trying to spare me something—pressure, responsibility, the unknown future. Even when he wanted me the most, he tried to rationalize his own vulnerability.
"This promise may be a hindrance to you by then," he continued, lowering his gaze. "I'm not asking for a dramatic, eternal oath. I know things can change. Unexpected things happen."
He was retreating for my sake.
But I wouldn't let him.
I remembered the way he had demanded it last night, voice rough with emotion—WHY WON'T YOU PROMISE ME?—and warmth spread through my chest.
I took a slow, steady breath.
"You can take responsibility for me," I said with a soft smile. "I won't let it become a hindrance to you."
His eyes lifted, searching mine.
"I will marry you," I continued, heart steady. "We will reunite, Eiser. And I promise you this, here and now: I will never let our marriage be something you regret."
A faint, sweet smile—the same one that had made my heart stutter the night before—spread across his lips.
He rose from the sofa, closing the distance between us in a single, sure step. His hand reached for mine, warm fingers curling around my own. The room grew quiet, and for a moment, all I could hear was my own racing heartbeat.
So… he'll promise me, right?
The certainty in his gaze felt like an answer in itself.
He didn't need to say anything more.
His promise was in the way he held my hands.
In the warmth of his smile.
In the steady reassurance radiating from him.
He had offered me everything—protection, status, devotion—believing I had nothing.
And in return, I was giving him everything I had.
"That's why I want this promise," I insisted, and even I could hear how strained my voice had become—too fragile, too thin, held together only by the last threads of hope. It wavered with a desperate certainty I hardly felt. My shoulders ached from holding myself too tightly, and my heart thrashed against my ribs in a panicked rhythm, as if trying to force its way out of my chest.
"Every time I'm tired and weary," I continued, my breath trembling, "I want to find hope in you… and strength through that hope."
I lifted my gaze to him, searching—begging—for the smallest sign, a glimmer of reassurance, a gentle word. Anything.
But he didn't give it.
Instead, he deflected, clinging to something I'd said earlier.
"I think what you said early this morning is the answer we need right now."
My own words.
They came back to me slowly, as if rising through water, blurred and already bitter.
"Because you become stronger and more resilient when you have something to protect."
Was he suggesting that I no longer had anything to protect?
Or that he didn't want to be the thing I held onto?
He took a slow, measured sip of the green liquid in his glass, as if we were discussing something trivial rather than the future of my heart.
"Someday. On the date and time you and I agree upon. I like those words."
"Someday."
A hollow, evasive word with no shape, no promise, no anchor.
It ricocheted around the elegant room like an echo that made the silence heavier.
He paused, his voice softening—yet somehow that softness hurt even more.
"I don't want our marriage to feel like a burden, or an urgency, in your life. You're still young. You still have many things to see and do. I want you to fly freely, without limits in direction or time. And above all, this proposal…"
His words simply evaporated, unfinished, suspended between us like smoke.
He was talking about my freedom.
But didn't he understand?
My freedom felt hollow without him anchoring it.
The realization struck hard.
A cold abyss opened inside me.
"What does he mean," I thought, stunned by the sudden chill creeping across my spine, "that this promise may be a hindrance to me?"
GRIT.
My teeth clenched.
So he wasn't going to make the promise.
Not now.
Not when I needed him most.
A murky, suffocating darkness swelled up inside me—fear, rejection, humiliation all mixing into something sharp and choking. I had worked up the courage to propose to him, to bare myself so honestly… and he neither accepted nor rejected it. He just hovered in the in-between.
Why was he always so vague?
My black slip dress felt suddenly too thin, too exposed. I felt like an open wound standing before him.
My hand curled into a fist at my side, nails digging into my skin as if I could stop myself from shattering.
STRIDE.
I turned abruptly. The tap of my bare feet against the polished floor was swallowed by the vastness of the room, absorbed by the warm light that suddenly felt cold.
RAISE.
I didn't look back.
I couldn't.
I just ran—ran from the man I had thought was my strength, ran from the fragile hope he refused to promise me, ran from the future he kept dangling out of reach.
Eiser's gaze, when I finally confronted him again, was unnervingly calm. The icy blue of his eyes gave nothing away—no regret, no tension, not even the faintest sign of the emotional upheaval he had caused. It was like looking into still water that hid a dangerous depth beneath.
"Eiser, I don't know what you're thinking..." I began, my voice betraying a slight tremor. My chest felt tight, my breath uneven.
His lip twitched—barely—but enough for me to see he wasn't entirely unaffected.
"You think I'm messing around here? I'm serious."
"And you don't think I am?" I countered, stepping closer despite the ache hollowing out my stomach. "I'm serious too."
But he stayed composed, infuriatingly steady.
"No matter how many times you ask, that's the best answer I can give you."
He seemed to anticipate my desperation, the way my resolve would crack if he left too much silence.
So he pivoted.
"If you take one step away from me for my sake," he said quietly, firmly, "I'll take two steps toward you for yours."
Two steps.
Toward me.
What did that even mean when he refused the very promise I needed?
His words felt like riddles carved in marble—cold, immovable, just shy of comforting.
"Yeah. Fine."
The word rasped out of me, tasting like ashes. I turned sharply, putting distance between us, my mind teetering between wanting to understand him and wanting to run again.
The wall of green bottles behind him gleamed mockingly, like rows of unspoken truths lining the shelves.
"Then… am I to understand," I asked, my voice cracking with something raw and bitter, "that you don't care if I marry someone else in the future?"
The words felt like tearing open my own chest.
"Why can't you covet me to your heart's content…?"
The silence that followed felt like a knife.
My thoughts spiraled darker, sharper, crueler in their clarity.
"And that you're fine with that man laying his hands on me… and taking me to bed whenever he wants?"
The moment the last word left my lips, I turned back—just in time to catch it.
A flicker.
Brief but violent.
A muscle tensed along his jaw.
His eyes dropped to my leg still raised slightly from my aborted movement, his gaze narrowing with a possessiveness he tried so hard to hide.
"...As much as I covet you?" he finished, voice low, roughened by something undeniably real, undeniably hungry—yet still refusing me the one thing I asked for.
He had feelings.
He had desire.
Deep, consuming, dangerous desire.
But no promise.
No anchor.
No certainty.
Just a future named someday.
And standing there, wrapped in his ambiguity, I felt the weight of that impossible contradiction press down on me like the end of a chapter I wasn't ready to close.