She felt me.
Good.
I let the silence stretch as I stepped inside. My gaze swept the room—soft edges, shadows stretched long by the dying light outside. Everything in its place.
And then I saw it.
The ring box.
Set perfectly on her nightstand. Not hidden.
Not rejected.
Just… waiting.
Claimed.
I walked toward it slowly. Picked it up like it was something sacred. Or something dangerous.
Both, really.
I flipped the lid open, let my eyes trace the sharp lines of the black diamond.
Beautiful. Uncompromising.
Just like her.
“Are you ready to get married, Persephone?”
No response.
No gasp.
Just that delicious stillness, her throat tightening as she swallowed hard.
I lifted my gaze.
Watched her carefully.
She was trying not to react.
Trying not to give me the satisfaction.
Too late.
“I’m flexible,” I said, my voice a low hum. “We can do it quietly. No press. No dress. Just the papers. You sign. I keep you.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of her book, knuckles white.
The book dropped to her lap.
I took a step closer.
“Or…” I let the smile crawl slowly across my face—slow, sure, sharp enough to bleed. “We can make it a spectacle. Pick out flowers. Invite your parents. I’ll even walk you down the aisle myself. How’s that for tradition?”
Still, she said nothing.
But she was listening.
