eminence, MONET DE HAAN

FORTY SIX.

Monet De Haan did not ask for things.

She took them. Earned them. Commanded them into her orbit.

But this — this wasn't something she could conquer through wit or wardrobe. This required humility. Vulnerability.

It required her to sit on the edge of a cream velvet armchair in the Kingsleys' Upper East Side parlor, fidgeting with the hem of her Celine trousers while Isabella and Theodore watched her like a final-round investment pitch.

Camille sat beside her, spine straight and composed, sipping from a crystal glass of still water like she hadn't dragged Monet here thirty minutes early "just to breathe."

Theodore broke the silence first, setting down his scotch with a low thud. "So. Miss De Haan. To what do we owe this... formal request?"

Monet cleared her throat. "I'd like to marry your daughter."

Isabella arched one brow. "Direct. I admire that."

Theodore didn't flinch. "You're both eighteen."

"Nearly nineteen," Monet corrected, then winced. "I mean. Yes. We're young. But I'm not asking for a wedding tomorrow. I'm asking because I know. And I want to start our lives with that promise clear. I want her to know there's no uncertainty about how I feel."

Isabella's expression didn't soften. But she didn't interrupt either.

Camille gave a small, encouraging nod.

Monet continued. "Addy's the best thing that's ever happened to me. She's... my mirror, and my challenge, and my calm. And she's given me the kind of love I didn't think I deserved."

There was a pause. Then she added, quieter, "But I want to deserve it. For the rest of my life. I want to wake up every day trying to earn it."

The room went still for a moment. Theodore leaned back in his chair, eyes unreadable. "What about your future? Harvard, the firm. Your political aspirations."

"They don't matter if she's not there to witness them," Monet said simply.

Isabella studied her. "Do you even believe in marriage?"

"I didn't," Monet admitted. "Not until her."

That, finally, made Isabella blink.

Camille smiled faintly behind her glass. "She's telling the truth."

Theodore let out a long exhale. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled.

"Well. I can't say I saw this coming. You're headstrong. Controlling. Unrelenting." 

"But you're also loyal," he continued. "And you've protected Adelaide even when she didn't ask for it."

"She never had to," Monet said.

Isabella looked between the two of them, then finally, finally gave a small nod. "You have our blessing. On one condition."

Monet straightened. "Anything."

"When you ask her," Isabella said coolly, "make it clear that this wasn't about possession. It's about partnership. She's not your anchor, Monet. She's your equal."

Monet met her gaze without flinching. "She always has been."

Theodore extended a hand. "Then go get your girl."

Monet shook it with steady fingers, but her heart was thundering.

As they walked toward the door, Camille leaned in and whispered, "That was shockingly mature of you."