The Promotion

Chapter Forty-Four

My vision blurred, opening and closing as though I were waking from a dream I wasn't sure I wanted to leave. My mouth parted, desperate to form words, yet my thoughts refused to cooperate. They tangled and knotted inside my head, each one colliding with the next.

One question.

So simple on the surface — yet it split me open.

It felt as though the ground had disappeared beneath my feet, like a violent gust had swept me up and carried me somewhere distant and unfamiliar. The question wasn't simple at all. It was layered, heavy, carrying the weight of past mistakes, fear, hope, and a future I hadn't dared to picture so clearly until now.

I looked at Alexander, searching his face for something — reassurance, certainty, permission to be afraid.

He waited patiently, brows lifted slightly, eyes steady and warm. He wasn't rushing me. He wasn't demanding anything. And somehow, that made it harder.

He deserved an answer.

But my heart and my head were still arguing.

"Alexander," I finally whispered.

The moment his name left my lips, the tears followed. Hot, relentless, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them. I hated that he saw me like this — fragile, overwhelmed, cracking under the weight of my own thoughts.

I stepped back, breaking the fragile bubble between us, and sank into my chair at the table. My hands trembled as they folded into my lap, my breathing uneven.

Across from me, Alexander exhaled slowly.

The sound wasn't frustrated — it was resigned. Understanding.

He sat down opposite me, closing the distance again in a quieter way. When he reached for my hand, I didn't pull away. His thumb traced slow, grounding circles over my skin, as if anchoring me to the moment.

I closed my eyes.

The last time someone had proposed to me, I had said yes because I was afraid to say no. Because guilt and vulnerability had blurred my judgment. Because it felt easier to accept than to admit something was wrong.

But this wasn't that.

With Alexander, there was no guilt. No pressure.

Just confusion.

And confusion terrified me almost as much as certainty once had.

"Louisa," he said gently, his voice low and steady. "I need you to know something. If this feels too soon — if you think I'm rushing you — it's okay to say no. I won't think less of you. I won't walk away."

Something in his tone shifted me.

It was like a fog lifting.

Nine months.

Nine months of laughter, safety, passion, understanding. Nine months of learning what love was supposed to feel like — steady, warm, supportive. With him, love wasn't something I had to earn or prove. It simply existed.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze.

This was the man I trusted with my heart.

This was the man I wanted beside me when life turned ugly and when it turned beautiful.

"Yes," I said suddenly.

Alexander blinked. Once. Twice.

"Yes," I repeated, a shaky laugh escaping me. "I'll marry you."

For a moment, he looked stunned — like he was afraid he'd misheard.

"I— I don't want you to feel pressured," he stammered. "If you're saying yes just because—"