The candlelight dances across the table, casting golden shadows on the red petals scattered like blessings between us. The food is beautiful—arranged with care, steam rising gently into the warm air.
The wine in our glasses catches the flame, shimmering deep ruby, alive with light.
My eyelashes are still wet from crying. My lips still tingle from the deepest kiss of my life.
My eyes keep drifting down.
To my hand. To the ring.
The ring rests there, silver and perfect, catching every flicker of candlelight. It looks like it belongs.
Like it's always been there, waiting for me to notice.
But I can't shake the feeling—the terrifying, beautiful feeling—that this isn't real. That at any moment I'll blink and find myself back in my tiny, cheap apartment, alone, with only novels to keep me company.
"Zyren."
I blink, looking up. Deniz watches me across the table, his dark eyes soft, searching.
"Did you not like it?" His voice is quiet. Careful.
