جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 190

Gloss POV Final mission: complete. The words lingered in the back of my mind like an echo that refused to fade. Then the noise swallowed everything. Applause thundered through the atrium, loud and chaotic and utterly overwhelming. People were clapping, cheering, some of them openly crying, several already replaying the moment on their phones like they needed proof it had actually happened. I was engaged. In the middle of the company. With a ring warm on my finger. I stared at it for half a second, dazed, watching the way the light caught the metal. It looked unreal, like something borrowed from someone else’s life. Dream’s hands were still on my waist. Solid. Real. Grounding. He leaned in close enough that his forehead brushed mine. “You said yes,” he murmured softly, like he was still verifying. “I did.” “You are aware that I will hold you to that.” I laughed weakly, emotion still pressing against my ribs. “I am aware.” The crowd started closing in, not aggressivel

Gloss POV The stars had bloomed above us. That was how it felt in my chest the next morning. Like something vast and scattered had decided to gather itself into constellations just for me. I woke before Dream. That alone was rare enough to feel ceremonial. The island air was soft, warm already, carrying the scent of salt through the open windows. Light spilled across the sheets in pale gold ribbons, resting along his shoulder, tracing the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. He looked younger when he slept. Less calculated. Less controlled. No boardroom sharpness in his jaw, no carefully arranged composure in his gaze. Just him. Just mine. I lay there on my side, propped on one elbow, watching him with a softness I once would have mocked. I used to believe vulnerability was something you endured, not something you chose. Now I understood it was something you earned. My mind drifted back to the night before, to the way the ocean had shimmered around us, to the way his h

Gloss POV “Mission truly complete.” The laughter faded like mist dissolving in sunlight. The screen returned to its steady glow. The office was quiet again. I stood there, fingers still wrapped loosely around Dream’s, my pulse steady, not panicked, not hunted, just aware. He looked at me carefully. “You are not afraid,” he said. “No,” I answered honestly. I was not. The sound had not felt like control. It had not felt like surveillance. It had felt like a chapter closing itself with a final, satisfied breath. Dream reached forward and powered down the display. The room dimmed slightly as the interface vanished, leaving only the reflection of us in the dark glass. “It is done,” he said softly. “Yes.” We did not speak about it again that day. We did not need to. Something had settled between us, something steady and unshakable. Time passed. Not in dramatic leaps. Not in cinematic montages. Just in days that folded gently into one another. Work resumed its rhythm.

Gloss POV “Mission logged: eternal contentment.” The ghost of it faded like the last note of a song you loved too much to replay. For a while after our anniversary, everything felt charmed. Not in a fragile way. Not in a way that made me suspicious. Just charmed. Work flowed. Meetings ended on time. Contracts closed without chaos. We argued about insignificant things like whose turn it was to order groceries, and those arguments ended with laughter instead of sharp edges. Peace settled into my bones so naturally that I stopped waiting for it to collapse. Which is why the storm caught me off guard. It started as a rumor in the sky. We had stayed late at the office, not because we needed to, but because we fell into one of those long conversations that spiraled from strategy to philosophy to whether pineapple belonged on pizza. It did not. I was correct. Dream disagreed simply to be contrary. By the time we left the building, the air felt heavier. Humidity clung to my

Dream's POV I wake slowly, not because of noise, not because of obligation, but because my body feels rested in a way it has not in years. For a few seconds I do not open my eyes. I simply breathe. The air is warm, faintly scented with rain that lingered through the night, clean and washed. The storm is gone. The city beyond our windows feels quieter, softer, like it too decided to sleep in. Then I feel him. Gloss is curled slightly toward me, one hand resting against my chest, fingers relaxed, his breathing deep and even. His hair falls over his forehead in a way that would irritate him if he were awake. His face is unguarded, peaceful, younger somehow without the sharp awareness he carries when conscious. I open my eyes. Morning light filters through the curtains in gentle stripes, gold and pale. It settles across his cheek, touches the bridge of his nose, lingers at the corner of his mouth. He looks unreal. Not in the way I once meant it. Not in disbelief. In awe. Last