Todos os capítulos de LEVEL UP MY COLD CEO {MxM}: Capítulo 191 - Capítulo 200

Gloss POV “And you made me believe.” I meant it. That night on the terrace, with the water reflecting city lights and the foundation bearing my name glowing behind us, something settled into permanence. Not the dramatic kind that demands fireworks or declarations, but the quiet permanence that arrives when two people decide they are no longer testing the future, they are building it. Life did not slow after that. It expanded. The foundation demanded time, attention, structure. Dream handled the architecture, the funding channels, the strategic partnerships. I handled the people, the mentorship programs, the late night conversations with ambitious young founders who carried more doubt than capital. We moved in rhythm. We learned each other in new contexts. At home, mornings were softer. Evenings were slower. We cooked more often. We argued sometimes about small things, about whose turn it was to order groceries, about whether his idea of relaxation qualified as actual

Dream's POV I did not expect my hands to shake. I have negotiated billion dollar acquisitions without a tremor. I have faced hostile boards, aggressive investors, hostile press, all with composure intact. Yet here I am, in my own bedroom, holding a sheet of paper with vows written in my handwriting, and my pulse refuses to behave. The apartment is quiet, late afternoon light stretching across the floor. The ceremony is tomorrow. Guests have arrived in the city. Messages fill my phone with excitement, congratulations, logistics. I ignore all of it. I pace. From the window to the dresser. From the dresser to the door. From the door back to the window. I read the vows again. They feel insufficient. Too formal. Too restrained. I rewrite a line. Delete another. Add something softer. Remove something that sounds rehearsed. I exhale slowly. This is absurd. I am not afraid of public speaking. I am not afraid of commitment. I am not even afraid of permanence. So why does

Dream's POV The sun rises softly through the curtains. I wake before him. For a moment I forget what day it is. The light feels gentle, ordinary, the room quiet except for the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me. Then it settles. Today. I turn my head slightly to look at him. Gloss is still asleep, one hand resting loosely near my shoulder, hair falling across his forehead in a way he will pretend not to care about later. The early light touches his face first, warms the curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw. He looks peaceful. Unburdened. I stay still, not wanting to disturb the stillness. My chest feels full, not anxious like yesterday, not restless, just heavy with meaning. This is the day I stand in front of everyone and say what I have been living quietly for months. I slide carefully out of bed, moving slowly so I do not wake him. He stirs faintly but does not open his eyes. In the living room, the apartment is hushed. The city outside has not

Dream's POV “And I’ll never let you go.” The words settle into my chest like something permanent. For a moment I cannot breathe. His forehead rests against mine, his hand still cupping my face, his voice trembling with the kind of honesty that strips everything else away. The garden is silent, not awkward, not tense, just reverent. Even the wind seems to pause. I open my eyes slowly. He looks wrecked, tears bright on his lashes, lips curved in the smallest, bravest smile. I lift my hand to his wrist, holding it there against my cheek. “You won’t have to,” I whisper, though the microphone catches it and carries it softly outward. A faint murmur moves through the guests, a collective exhale. The officiant clears their throat gently, grounding us back into the ceremony without breaking the spell. “It is time,” they say. Time. The word feels different today. Not a countdown, not a deadline. A beginning. I nod once. My best man steps forward quietly, placing the small velv

Dream's POV Sunlight spills through the curtains, soft and golden, tracing the curve of his face as he sleeps beside me. I wake before him. I do not know why. Maybe my body is still running on ceremony nerves, maybe my mind refuses to accept that there is nothing left to prepare for. No vows to rehearse, no guests to greet, no system prompts waiting to interrupt the moment. Just morning. Just him. He lies on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting loosely across my waist as if even in sleep he needs proof that I am still here. His hair falls across his forehead, slightly messy, softer than it looked under wedding lights. The faintest crease sits between his brows, like he is dreaming too hard. I reach out before I can stop myself and brush it away. He exhales, shifting slightly but not waking. For years, I lived like a machine. Cold, logical, ruthless. I measured outcomes, calculated risks, eliminated inefficiencies. Emotions were variables to be manage