The muscles had been preserved and strengthened through the experimental treatment, but they still protested this sudden demand for performance.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the doorframe and moved forward on my own two feet, one careful step after another. The soft carpet beneath my shoes felt strange—a sensation I'd nearly forgotten.
The moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting silver stripes across the room and illuminating Connor's sleeping form on our bed.
He was sprawled on top of the covers, still fully dressed except for his shoes, as if he'd intended just to rest his eyes for a moment. His phone lay beside his hand, the screen showing multiple unanswered texts to my secure line.
I paused at the foot of the bed, drinking in the sight of him. In sleep, his face relaxed back into the younger man he was, free from the weight of betrayal and struggle that had marked him when we met.
Something tightened in my chest—this fierce, protective feeling that had blindsided me from the moment he'd crashed into my life.
The shift of my weight caused a floorboard to creak, and Connor's eyes flew open instantly. He sat up in bed, moonlight streaming through the windows, ready with what I was sure would be a sarcastic retort about my late night "meeting."
But the words died on his lips when he saw me standing there. His eyes widened, mouth opening and closing without sound as his brain tried to process what he was seeing.
"Julian?" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're... standing."
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face—part triumph, part vulnerability. I'd faced down boardrooms full of hostile executives with less nervousness than I felt in this moment.
"Project Phoenix," I explained, my voice husky with emotion I didn't bother to hide. "It worked."
Connor's eyes never left mine as I continued, the words tumbling out after weeks of secrecy. "I've been under treatment for the last six weeks. I didn't want to tell you in case it didn't work, in case it was just another false hope." I took another careful step toward the bed. "But tonight was the final treatment and as you can see..." I spread my arms wide, offering myself for inspection. "It worked."
Connor moved to the edge of the bed, his movements slow and careful, as if afraid a sudden motion might shatter this miracle. His eyes traveled from my face down to my legs and back up, wonder and disbelief warring in his expression.
"How?" he breathed. "The doctors said the damage was permanent."
"That was before my research team completed their work," I explained, taking another step closer. "The data we recoveredfrom Brad—it contained the final pieces we needed. A new neural pathway integration protocol combined with targeted stem cell therapy." I was babbling now, technical details spilling out as a defense against the overwhelming emotion of the moment.
Connor stood, closing the distance between us until we were face to face, no wheelchair between us for the first time. His hands hovered near my sides, not quite touching, as if afraid I might be an illusion that would dissipate at his touch.
"May I?" he whispered.
I nodded, and his hands settled on my waist, solid and warm through the fabric of my shirt. A shudder ran through me at the contact. This—standing here, feeling his touch while supporting my own weight—was something I'd feared would never happen.
"I can't believe it," he murmured, his eyes suspiciously bright in the moonlight. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't bear to see hope in your eyes if it failed," I admitted. The weeks of secret treatments, the pain, the setbacks—I'd carried it all alone rather than risk disappointing him. “The hardest part was that business trip I took.”
“That ten day business trip a month ago?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t a business trip. That’s when Dr. Teller actually had to do surgery on my spine. The rest was all injections and physical therapy.” I lightly slapped my thigh. “I still have a little way to go, but I’m on my feet at least.”
Connor just stared at me with wide eyes.
"But there's more."
With a careful motion that I'd practiced for hours under Dr. Teller's watchful eye, I lowered myself to one knee beside the bed. The movement wasn't as smooth as it once would have been, but I managed it without falling, which felt like its own miracle.
From my pocket, I produced a small velvet box, holding it up toward Connor whose eyes had grown impossibly wider. I flipped the lid open to reveal a platinum band studded with diamonds that caught the moonlight and fractured it into tiny rainbows between us.
"Connor Matthews Montgomery," I said, my voice steadier than I'd expected given the thunder of my heart, "you deserve more than a hasty civil ceremony."
His hand covered his mouth, but not before I saw his lips twitch with humor despite the tears gathering in his eyes. "We're already married," he pointed out, voice cracking with emotion despite his attempt at nonchalance.
"Yes," I acknowledged with a smile. "But now I want to give you everything—the ceremony, the honeymoon, the world at your feet."
The words hung between us, weighted with promise. I remained kneeling, the position growing more uncomfortable by the second, but unwilling to rise until I had his answer.
