56

Chapter Fifty Six

Kent’s Pov

My phone buzzes loudly flashing missed calls from board members, texts from angry family cousins, and breaking news alerts from financial blogs screaming my name.

“Vance drops legacy. Claims scholarship student.”

I ignore every single ping.

We slip away from the glaring lights of the main ballroom, finding a quiet, shadow-draped terrace overlooking the winter-dark city skyline. Daniella stands by the glass railing, her dark emerald dress catching the faint glow of the string lights from inside. She turns to me, her big dark eyes wide and conflicted.

"Kent," she whispers, rubbing her arms. "That wasn't just a statement. That was a bomb. Did you say yes just because the reporter cornered you under the lights?"

I step close enough to trap her against the cool glass, resting my hands on the frame beside her shoulders. I look straight into her face, letting her see the heavy truth behind my eyes.

"I don't do impulsive things, Daniella," I say, my voice low and steady. "I have thought about giving you my name since the exact week I found out you were carrying our kid. I didn't drop down on one knee tonight because a reporter wanted a show. I didn't propose right here with a audience because you deserve a real moment—private, quiet, and chosen by us."

Her breath hitches. "You mean it?"

"I am dead serious," I murmur, my hand lifting to brush her cheek. "My name, my life, my future. They are yours if you want them. No board contracts. No generational traps."

A soft, watery smile breaks across her face.

Before we head back in, I pull her against my chest. We don't need a string quartet or flashing cameras out here. We sway slow on the dark stone patio, the cold night air brushing our skin while our hearts beat a heavy, steady rhythm together. I lean down, my lips grazing her ear. "Marriage isn't an obligation, Daniella. It's the choice to never let go."

Forty-five minutes later, the heavy door of our minimalist bunker apartment clicks shut behind us.

No guards. No corporate spies. Just dead silence and the faint hum of the new fridge.

Daniella kicks off her heels, letting them drop with a soft thud on the hardwood. I drop my car keys on the counter and peel off my tight silk tie, tossing it over a chair. The armor comes off piece by piece, leaving just the raw exhaustion of a man who burned his entire world down and realized he would do it ten times over.

I walk over to the small couch, sinking down, rubbing the back of my neck.

Daniella follows me, sitting right beside me. She pulls my hand away from my neck, lacing her warm fingers through mine.

"You're quiet," she says softly, studying my face in the dim hall light.

I let out a slow, rough breath—the kind I haven't let escape since I walked into the grandfather's board meeting weeks ago.

"I spent thirty-two years believing love was a transaction," I confess, my voice dropping rough and raw, stripped of every ounce of professor pride or corporate armor. "My father treated affection like leverage. My grandfather measured family by obedience. For weeks after walking away, my brain kept waiting for the trap. Waiting for the bill to come due."

I look at her, my dark eyes burning with a sudden, terrifying panic I usually keep buried deep under lock and key.

"And my biggest fear isn't losing the money, Daniella," I whisper, my thumb rubbing hard over her knuckle. "It's waking up one day and realizing the ground under us was fake. It's losing you. It's watching you look at me and decide the chaos isn't worth the price."

The dark silence in the room stretches thin and tight.

Daniella doesn't look away. Her eyes shine bright with sudden, heavy tears, clear and unbreakable as glass. She shifts closer, lifting both hands to cup my jaw, turning my face so I have nowhere else to look but straight into her soul.

"Listen to me, Kent," she says, her voice trembling just enough to show she feels the weight of it too, clear and true as a bell. "You aren't trading stocks with me. You aren't managing a portfolio. You are my home."

She leans in, pressing her forehead hard against mine, her warm breath washing over my lips.

"I love you, Kent," she whispers against my mouth.

The words land inside my chest like a lightning strike clearing a dark forest. I have heard praise from deans, board approvals from billionaires, and polite whispers from society wives. None of them meant a single damn thing.

I freeze for half a heartbeat, every muscle in my body locking tight as the sound of her voice echoes deep in my bones. I love you.

I have never heard words that have meant more to me.

A sharp, hot surge of overwhelming triumph and fierce protection rushes through my veins. I slide my arms around her waist, lifting her flush against my chest as I stand up, turning us so she presses back against the soft fabric of the sofa cushion.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent—vanilla, rain, and safety. My hands grip her hips hard, holding her like she is the only real thing spinning in a fake universe.

"Say it again," I murmur against her warm skin, my voice thick, vibrating with a hunger that has nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with permanent claim.

Daniella threads her fingers through my dark hair, scratching my scalp with a soft, steady touch that grounds every frayed wire in my brain.

"I love you, Kent," she repeats, clear and loud into the quiet apartment. "Always."

I pull back just enough to look down into her eyes, tracing the dark curve of her lashes, committing every inch of this exact second to memory. I lean down, sealing our mouths together in a slow, deep, burning kiss that tastes like relief, promises, and the first real morning of the rest of our lives.