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As soon as the gates open, the driver guides the car along the already familiar path to the front of my house.

“Night, Tom,” I say, stepping out the moment the wheels slow down.

I take the stairs two at a time, unlock the door, and walk inside.

Silence. Darkness.

I didn’t check the security system on purpose. I didn’t want to know whether she came or not until I walked through the door.

Stepping inside, I close the door fully behind me, taking two steps toward the living room, then I stop.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the silhouette of a woman leaning against the kitchen island.

“When I first saw this island,” she says softly, “I didn’t know whether to be more amazed by its beauty or by how handsome you are.”

I chuckle and turn fully toward her. Hand in my pockets, gaze intense.

“Kitten,” I say as I move closer, “I see you were a good girl and listened.”

As soon as I’m closer, I notice a box in her hands. My movements trigger the lights, and the kitchen floods with warm illumination.

Only then do I realize it’s my gift, and I can’t decide whether it just looks unopened or if it really is untouched.

I don’t ask anything. I just watch her from a few steps away.

“Every day, I wonder what you chose for me,” she confesses.

That answers my unspoken question.

“Why didn’t you open it?” I ask, surprised.

“Because I was afraid,” she says quietly, her eyes fixed on the box. “Afraid it would be something superficial. Expensive, but meaningless. Something bought in a hurry…” A pause. “Or chosen by… Irina.”

Her words make me realize she’s been caught in these feelings just as much as I have, right from the beginning. Even though neither of us said anything, we’ve been wrestling, in our own way, with everything we felt.

“And you’re not afraid anymore?” My tone is gentle, calm.

In a few steps, I’m right in front of her, caging her in between my arms as I place my hands on the island, on each side of her.

Without hesitation, she carefully unties the ribbon, then lifts the lid of the box with meticulous slowness.

Inside, on a white velvet stand, a stunning necklace gleams—a small cat hanging delicately from the chain.

The moment she sees it, her eyes lift to mine, already shimmering with tears.

“Ethan,” she whispers. That’s all she manages before the tears spill freely, as if on command.

“No woman has ever captured my attention the way you did, from the very first day, Thalia,” I confess.

I take the necklace from the box and lift it, bringing it where it belongs.

Until now, I never wondered why she wasn’t wearing it, why she never said anything when she saw it. It never crossed my mind that she hadn’t even opened it.

“Even that constant teasing of ours should have been a sign for me,” I continue, turning her gently and fastening the necklace around her neck. “A sign that I have no control when it comes to you. That you provoke me. That you draw me in.”

When I finish, she places the box on the illuminated island—the only source of color in the room—then turns back to face me.

Lifting her arms, she wraps them around my neck and kisses me slowly, like a whisper.