“You’ll be staying in the basement storage room until morning,” Dante said, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth.

Later that night, after the guests had departed and the lawn had grown quiet under a canopy of mid-summer stars, Dante led Grace down toward the private rose garden near the lake.

The night air was warm, smelling of damp earth and blooming jasmine.

Grace stopped near the stone fountain, looking back at him with a curious smile. “Dante, what are we doing out here? The kitchen needs to be cleaned up.”

“Let the kitchen wait,” Dante said softly.

He stopped a few paces away from her. His expression wasn't nervous—it was the look of a man who had never been more certain of any decision in his entire life.

Slowly, Dante dropped to one knee on the cool stone paving.

Grace’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands flew to her mouth.

“Dante...” she whispered, her eyes shining with sudden tears.

He didn't pull out a massive, diamond-encrusted ring wrapped in velvet designed to impress a room full of strangers. Instead, he opened a small, polished wooden box carved from a piece of reclaimed timber from the old east wing.

Inside sat a simple, hand-forged platinum band inlaid with a thin sliver of green malachite—resembling the emerald of the past, but grounded in earth and strength.

“When I first met you,” Dante began, his voice deep and steady, “I was a man who measured his worth by what he owned and who he kept out. You walked into my life and tore down every wall I had spent my entire existence building.”

He looked up into her eyes, his gaze unwavering.

“You taught me that strength isn't about power. It’s about courage. It’s about standing up when the world tries to break you, and loving fiercely when everything else is burning down.”

He held the box open toward her.

“Grace Bennett, you are my home, my partner, and my equal in every sense of the word. Will you spend the rest of your life building this crazy, beautiful world with me?”