My breath catches.
What the hell—
My brain struggles to process what he’s saying because what he’s saying means…
“In other words,” he continues, amusement dancing in his eyes, “it won’t matter to me. Astor Holdings can survive one setback. And I don’t need Astor Holdings to make my life make sense.”
“Levi—”
“Hey,” he cuts in. “Is it necessarily nepotism if you hire your husband?”
His face scrunches into a mock frown.
And all I can do is gape at him, my jaw dropped. Then, I actually find myself trying to answer the question because I start shaking my head. “Your qualifications match…”
What the hell am I saying?
Shit.
I dig the heels of my palm over my eyes. “I’m not marrying you if the clause doesn’t exist, Levi.”
When I finally find the courage to look up at him, the sight makes my chest tighten.
His entire expression has fallen. The color drains from his face quickly, and the guilt that slams into me, leaving me fumbling over my words as I try to explain.
“No—I mean…” I immediately sit forward. “That’s… wait.”
His eyes remain fixed on me. His chest is unmoving like he’s bracing for something horrible.
“We can date,” I rush out. “Date properly. Datelonger. There won’t be a deadline anymore. And… you don’t know all of me. Idon’t know all of me. I’m still off my meds, and we need to be sure that we really—”
God. I’m rambling. And I stop when a slow smile begins spreading across his face. Before I can stop him, he leans backward and reaches into the bedside drawer.
The second I see a familiar velvet box in his hand, I start shaking my head.
No.
No, no, no.
“No, Levi. I just told you—”
“Relax,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s not the same one I showed you a year ago. I got this custom-made.”
I blink as he opens the lid.
What?
I remember that ring from a year ago. We’d been sitting in a restaurant, just the two of us, for the first time. No parents. No obligations. No interruptions.
I think that was the first day I realized Levi genuinely liked me. Or had been interested in me, atthe very least. Back then, the clause hadn’t felt nearly as suffocating as it would later become.
That day, he’d shown me a ring that must have cost a fortune. I hadn’t accepted it. Not because I didn’t want it. Because I wanted more than just that ring.
I wanted us to get to know each other first. Maybe even fall in love. But I never said that second part aloud. It felt too hopeful. Too embarrassing.
Loving me seemed difficult enough without adding impossible expectations to the mix.
The ring never made another appearance, though. Not when we publicly started calling each other fiancé and fiancée. Not when the clause tightened around both our lives.
