I told myself this was for the best. She deserved a life unshackled by someone half-broken, someone who might never hold her the way she deserved again. Better to push her away now than let her waste years watching me struggle. And yet, as I lay there staring at the empty chair, the weight in my chest grew heavier with each breath.

The minutes dragged. My hand throbbed with a dull ache, a constant reminder of what I might have lost.

My heart ached worse.

I tried closing my eyes, tried drifting back into the fever fog, but sleep wouldn’t come. All I could think of was her face when I had turned her away—the hurt she tried to hide, the way her eyes lingered on me as though she wanted to fight my words but forced herself not to.

When the door opened again, I thought I was imagining it.

But there she was. Mira.

She stepped inside, the faintest smile on her lips, as if she knew she was catching me in the middle of a sulk I hadn’t admitted to myself.

“You didn’t think I’d really leave, did you?” she said softly.

I blinked at her. “You did leave.”

She lifted a small box in her hand. “Only to get this.”

I pushed myself up against the pillows, my pulse picking up. “What’s that?”

She walked closer, her heels clicking quietly on the hospital floor until she was right beside me. Then, to my complete shock, she sank down on one knee.

“Mira—what are you—”

She opened the box. Inside were two rings, simple yet striking, every line of them touched by her craft. My chest tightened painfully.

“Last time, you proposed to me,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “Now it’s my turn.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Of all the things I had imagined in the silence of this room, this was not one of them. “You can’t be serious,” I managed.

“Serious.” Her voice was steady, her hands firm as she held the box up to me.

I swallowed hard. Part of me wanted to reach out, to pull her up, to say yes without hesitation. But the fear was still there, unrelenting. “Mira,” I said quietly, “don’t do this out of pity.”

Her brows pulled together. “Pity?”

“You heard the doctors. There’s a chance my hand won’t recover. I might not be the man you thought I was. If this is your way of… of softening the blow—”

She cut me off, her voice fierce. “Stop. This isn’t pity. It’s love.”

I froze. She had never said it like that before. Not once.

She leaned closer, her eyes burning into mine. “Do you know why I fought so hard these past weeks? Why I went up against Lea, why I called in favors I didn’t even know I had, why I pushed myself into circles I swore I’d never step into? Because I realized something. I don’t care about jewelry, or Paris, or Mira Joie—not compared to you. You are what matters. Protecting LGH wasn’t about the company, it was about protecting what you love. Because when you love someone, you protect the things they love too.”

My throat went dry.

She went on, her voice softening. “You bought Nyx Collective for me when I didn’t even ask. You stood up for me at the Aureate Awards when the whole world thought I’d fall on my face. You let me go to Paris even though you hated it, because you knew I needed it. All this time, Ashton, I thought jewelry was my greatest passion. But it isn’t. Not anymore. You are. You’re my number one.”

The words hit me with a force I wasn’t ready for. For so long, I had been bracing myself for her to walk away, to realize I wasn’t worth the trouble. And now here she was, kneeling with the rings she had designed with her own hands, telling me I was her priority.

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