I convinced myself that if I remained by Dominic’s side, if I rested my head against his chest and listened closely at night, I might still feel traces of Adrian there. Maybe love didn’t truly die—maybe it simply changed forms.
Five years passed like that.
And five years can do many things to a heart.
Dominic never rushed me. He never pressured me. He stayed gentle, attentive, endlessly patient. He made sure I ate. He listened when I cried. He teased me when I smiled too little. Somewhere along the way, without my permission, my heart betrayed its grief.
I fell in love again.
Not because of the heart beating in his chest—but because of Dominic himself.
That was why, on the night of our fifth anniversary, I finally gathered the courage I had been holding back for years. I took out the silver ring he once gave me—a simple promise ring I had never dared to answer—and slid it onto my finger. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I waited until we were standing on the cruise deck, the ocean stretching endlessly beneath the glow of warm lights.
“Dominic,” I murmured, barely trusting my own voice. “I’m ready.”
He turned to look at me, surprise flickering across his face.