“You built all of this,” I murmur, glancing around at the property again.
The house carved into the mountain.
The land thoughtfully tended.
The quiet life tucked away from the world.
“And you still made space for broken things.”
His eyes flick to mine at that.
Something unreadable passes through them.
“They’re not broken,” he says quietly.“They just need somewhere steady.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
Somewhere steady.
I swallow.
Because suddenly this isn’t about goats or swans or some old mare in a stable.
It’s about him.
The man who looks like a storm in a suit.
The man who kissed me in front of half the town without flinching.
The man who just asked me to marry him.
And who apparently makes room for the wounded without announcing it to the world.
I feel very, very small in the best possible way.
Not diminished.
Humbled.
Moved.
“You’re not what people think you are,” I say softly.
His mouth tilts.“And what do they think?”
“That you’re ruthless.That you don’t bend.That you win.”
He steps closer, just enough that my breath catches.
“They’re not wrong,” he says.
Then, quieter, more personal—“But they don’t know everything.”
I look at him differently after that.
Not just as the powerful man who offered me protection.
Not just as the wealthy mountain king with a mansion and a fleet of vehicles and a reputation.
