(Steven POV)
Steven Sy did not panic.
He did not spiral.
He did not pace the length of his bedroom at one in the morning, staring at the ceiling like the answer to romance might descend from imported Venetian plaster and gold-leaf crown molding.
He absolutely did not do that.
Except — he was.
He stopped by the window, staring out at the perfectly still estate grounds, hands in the pockets of his coat, brows slightly furrowed.
Courting.
He had said the word publicly.
Declared intent.
Made his position clear.
And yet… something didn't feel complete.
He didn't want to just continue taking Michelle to places she might like.
He had already done that:
The botanical conservatory.
The casual food park.
The soft, almost-date afternoons.
She had smiled every time.
But now it felt different.
This time…
he wanted something that felt like a quiet step forward.
Not a grand confession — not yet.
But something romantic enough to hint at where he wanted to go.
