The room fell into silence the moment Dave's words slipped out.
"I want to propose to June."
A sharp gasp came from June's mother, her hand pausing mid-air as she reached for her tea. James's eyes widened in excitement, but before he could speak, a cold voice cut through the air.
"You want to propose… at what cost?"
Dave turned to face the sharp, unwavering gaze of Ms. Betty, June's mother, who had just walked in—alongside her mother-in-law, whose expression remained unreadable.
"She's my only daughter. I may not have been there when she needed me, but that doesn't mean I don't care. And it certainly doesn't mean I'll stand by and watch her go through the same pain I did," she continued, her voice firm. "I can't stop her from loving you. But you… you, I can do something about."
Dave remained still, letting her words sink in. He had anticipated resistance, but hearing her speak of her past so bitterly made him realize the depth of her fears.
"I know how hard it was for her after her father disappeared," Ms. Betty went on. "So you need to promise me—right here, right now—that she will never be hurt, that she will never shed a single tear because of you. That she will be your top priority."
She didn't need to ask. She didn't need to demand. He had already vowed to himself long ago that nothing would ever come before June.
"I promise."
Her shoulders eased slightly, as if she had been holding a weight on them for too long.
James, eager to shift the heavy mood, clapped his hands together. "Great! Now, how do you plan to propose?" His grin stretched wide, clearly hoping to play a part in the big moment.
Dave raised a brow. "Do you have any ideas?"
Did he? The guy had been waiting years for this question. James smoothed his hands over his shirt, straightened his posture, and looked serious. "Of course! As the master of love, I shall guide you lost souls. Every girl dreams of a fairytale proposal—expensive suit, flowers everywhere, a grand stage with a crowd—"
"Sorry to say, that's not how my daughter dreams of her special day," Ms. Betty interrupted, shattering his extravagant vision.
James scowled. "Who picks a simple setting over luxury?"
"When she was three, she said she wanted her proposal to be in front of her father," Ms. Betty revealed. "She wanted him to be a witness, and she wanted the man to ask for his blessing."
James groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "So all my years of proposal planning get tossed for something so plain?"
Dave, however, nodded. "That's how I'll do it."
His mother smiled in approval, while James grumbled to himself about wasted talent.
"My proposal idea was best"
"Proposal, what proposal?" June asked entering the room.
"Proposal ?, what proposal ?, no one said proposal?" Mrs Deen said with a wary smile. June gave a suspicious look but decided to let it go.
"And him?" June asked, eyeing James, who was casually leaning against the doorway.
James simply set his lips in a low whistle, feigning innocence.
"He's just a loudmouth doctor who should be seeing other patients," her mother scolded.
Without further warning, James took that as his cue to leave, slipping out before she could say another word.
June, now free from distractions, turned to Dave and took a seat beside him. Her hands carefully balanced a bowl as she lifted the lid, releasing a wave of warm, garlicky aroma.
"I made you some chicken soup. It should help you feel better soon."
Dave looked at the bowl, then at her, a slow smile forming despite his exhaustion. "You made this?"
From the corner of the room, her mother stiffened.
June's mother had witnessed many impressive feats from her daughter. Intelligence? Exceptional. Determination? Unmatched. But cooking? Not once in her life had she seen June successfully make anything beyond instant noodles. And even that was a gamble.
She still vividly remembered the time June attempted fried rice—an attempt that ended in a smoky kitchen, a flaming pot of oil, and a traumatized fire alarm.
So now, watching Dave bring a spoonful of her daughter's cooking to his lips, she could only pray for his survival.
'Poor thing…'
June, oblivious to her mother's inner turmoil, eagerly awaited Dave's reaction.
As soon as the soup touched his tongue, Dave felt the intense kick of garlic, too much of it, followed by an oddly sweet aftertaste. He swallowed with effort, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Good," he managed to say, forcing a smile.
His praise made June's cheeks warm with pride, her lips stretching into a wide smile.
Seeing her so happy, Dave steeled himself and went in for a second spoonful.
A mistake.
The unexpected blend of overpowering garlic, undercooked chicken, and, was that sugar?, hit his taste buds with force. His throat tightened as he swallowed again, this time with a visible shudder.
A cough slipped out.
June gasped, immediately jumping to her feet. "Water! I forgot to get you water!"
Before anyone could stop her, she rushed out of the room.
As soon as she was gone, her mother sighed and turned to Dave with a knowing look. "Dear, you should just throw it away. I know how awful my daughter's cooking is."
Dave, still recovering from the assault on his taste buds, let out a breathless chuckle.
"That wouldn't be nice," he said, picking up the spoon again. "She put in the effort to make this for me. The least I can do is appreciate it, even if it kills me."
And with that, he took another bite.
Because for him, her smile was worth the suffering.
Just as they settled back into conversation, Dave's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. An unknown number.
He hesitated before answering.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then, a breath. A voice he hadn't heard in years, yet one that still crawled under his skin.
"It's been a while, Dave."
His grip on the phone tightened.
"Bella."
The line went dead.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain composed, but something in his gut told him this wasn't just a casual call.
Not after all this time.
….
The harsh daylight speared through the gaps in the heavy curtains, defying their attempt to keep the outside world at bay. Even with her hand shielding her eyes, Lizzy winced at the brightness.
A quiet knock followed by the soft creak of the door announced the entrance of a housemaid, who approached with a tall glass of green juice, precisely as requested. Without a word, the woman placed it on the nightstand, nodding in silent obedience before slipping away.
Lizzy sighed, sinking deeper into the plush bedding, her legs crossing elegantly as she lifted the glass to her lips. The sharp tang of the juice sent a shiver down her spine, but she welcomed it, savoring the way it cut through the storm in her mind.
Thomas had yet to return.
Not once since the incident had he set foot in the house, nor had he brought his daughter by as he used to. It wasn't a surprise, his absence was punishment, an unspoken retaliation for the truth she had forced upon him.
But she wasn't leaving this time.
Her fingers barely brushed against the cool glass on the nightstand when the phone beside it buzzed. The sharp sound sliced through the quiet, drawing an irritated groan from her lips.
"Yes, what is it?" she snapped, pressing the phone to her ear.
"I'm downstairs. Let's talk."
Lizzy froze for a second. The voice was unmistakable.
Linda.
Her lips curled in a slow, deliberate smirk. So, the ex-wife had finally crawled to her doorstep. How delightful.
Rolling off the bed, Lizzy adjusted the silk robe draped around her body, letting it pool gracefully as she moved. A glance in the mirror assured her that she looked nothing short of regal, her posture exuding power.
Within minutes, she descended the staircase with the grace of a queen greeting an unworthy subject.
And there she was.
Linda stood by the entrance, as poised and sharp as ever. But Lizzy saw through the controlled composure—the tightly pressed lips, the barely concealed tension in her shoulders.
A quiet scoff left Lizzy's lips as she took in the woman before her, allowing her gaze to roam over Linda with a mixture of amusement and disdain.
Wordlessly, she turned and strode toward the sitting area, making sure to take her seat first. She settled into one of the grand armchairs, her posture deliberately relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, as if she were the reigning monarch of this house.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, her voice laced with feigned boredom, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
Linda exhaled, visibly reining in her temper.
She could easily put Lizzy in her place, one hit would be enough. Not that she doubted she'd get away with it, but wasting her time on this woman was pointless. Besides, there was another life inside her now, one that didn't deserve to be tangled in such filth.
"I don't know what conversation you had with Thomas, and frankly, I don't care," Linda said, her voice even, controlled. "But I do care about what you said to my daughter."
Lizzy's eyes gleamed at that. So that was why she was here.
A slow, satisfied smile stretched across her face as she reached for a lemon from the fruit basket on the table. Peeling it open with careful fingers, she tore a small piece and brought it to her lips, sucking on it with deliberate slowness before answering.
"Did I say anything untrue?" she mused. "I'm pregnant with her baby brother. The next heir of the family."
She let the words hang in the air, watching for Linda's reaction.
"She's not a child anymore," Lizzy continued, her voice turning silkier, more venomous. "Sooner or later, her time will expire, just like yours did."
She popped another piece of lemon into her mouth, relishing the bitterness that coated her tongue.
"It'll only be me, my son, and Thomas. We'll be the perfect family, the one you never could give him. Neither you nor your daughter ever truly belonged in it."
Linda's jaw clenched. Lizzy could see it, the way her fingers curled tightly against the fabric of her dress, her knuckles whitening.
"You can have him," Linda said, her voice firm, unwavering. "You can have this family. But you will stay away from my daughter."
She turned, her decision made, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she moved toward the door.
Lizzy tilted her head, watching her retreat with mild amusement. Not so fast.
"That will only happen when you stop seducing my boyfriend."
The words landed like a well-aimed arrow.
Linda halted.
Lizzy smirked, extending her legs in full length as she leaned back lazily in her chair.
"Stop calling him. Stop meeting him. Then, and only then, will I let your daughter live in peace."
She paused, savoring the moment before delivering the final, well-placed dagger.
"As it is, she has a weak heart, doesn't she? Just one harsh word from me, and she'll be sent straight to the"
She never got to finish.
The sharp crack of a palm against her cheek sent her head whipping to the side.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled slightly, her hand flying to her stinging cheek. Her wide eyes flickered with disbelief, she had been slapped.
Slapped.
In her own home.
By her.
Linda stood before her, unwavering, her posture unshaken by the act. Her hand was still poised in midair, her fingers curled as if she were contemplating a second strike.
"How dare you?" Lizzy hissed, her voice laced with pure venom.
"Shut up," Linda bit back, her voice as sharp as a blade. "Take this as a warning. Next time you so much as breathe ill words about my daughter, you'll have me to deal with."
For the first time since their encounter, Lizzy had no response.
She remained still, stunned into silence, as Linda turned on her heels and walked away, her steps as steady as ever.
The insult, the sheer humiliation, boiled inside Lizzy's chest like a dark, seething fire.
The housemaid, who had unknowingly witnessed the exchange, quickly averted her gaze, shuffling away before Lizzy could unleash her wrath upon her.
But Lizzy barely noticed.
Her fingers curled tightly against the robe at her side, her nails digging into her palm.
Linda had walked away victorious today.
But this wasn't over.
Not even close.
….
The hum of quiet conversation filled the hospital room as June and Samantha sat beside their father's bed. His surgery had been successful, but the complications lingered, his legs refused to move on their own. Still, the doctor had assured them it was temporary. With time, he would walk again.
"I'm glad you two are getting along," their father said, his voice weak but laced with warmth.
June glanced at Samantha, who was carefully feeding their father spoonfuls of soup. A small smile tugged at her lips. It was rare, this moment of peace between them. Samantha had done most of the cooking, as usual. June had tried to help, but she knew better than anyone that the kitchen was not her territory.
As the night stretched on, the room was filled with gentle laughter and shared memories. For once, everything felt… right.
Then, chaos came crashing in.
"June! Something bad happened!"
Dora's voice cut through the tranquility like a blade, her body collapsing onto her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. Her hair clung to her damp forehead, and panic twisted her face.
June shot to her feet, her heart slamming against her ribs.
"What is it?" she demanded.
"Dave… he… he" Dora's voice cracked, her words dissolving into sobs.
That was all June needed to hear.
Her legs moved before her mind could process it, launching her into a desperate sprint toward Dave's ward. Every heartbeat felt like a warning, every breath like a countdown. The stairs blurred beneath her feet, the echo of her rushed steps swallowed by the hospital's sterile walls.
"Where's Dave?" she barked as she stormed into the empty ward.
A nurse turned, startled. "He was rushed to the fourth floor."
June didn't wait for further explanation. She ran.
The hallway stretched endlessly before her, but she refused to slow down. Please be okay. Please be okay.
And then, she saw him.
Relief crashed into her like a tidal wave as she took in the sight of Dave, standing before her, alive and well. His head was bandaged, his fingers fidgeting at his sides, but he was there.
Without thinking, she threw herself into his arms, her body colliding against his with enough force to steal his breath.
"You're okay," she whispered, clinging to him. "Nothing happened to you."
She buried her face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, warm despite the sterile hospital air. He gently loosened her grip, guiding her hands to his.
"I was so scared," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I thought I'd lost you. Don't you ever, ever, do that to me again."
She reached up, running her fingers through his hair, careful around the fresh bandage.
Then, something shifted.
A strange awareness crept over her as she registered the space around them. The dimly lit rooftop of the hospital, the open sky stretching infinitely above them, and..
Her breath hitched.
Behind her, the shadows melted away, revealing what had been carefully arranged in secret.
A giant board loomed in the background, pinned with photographs of her, moments captured from the past, each memory framed in love. Petals were arranged in the shape of an apple at her feet.
Her gaze drifted upward to the night sky, where the full moon bathed everything in silver light.
"What is this?" she murmured, suspicion laced with something dangerously close to hope.
Her eyes snapped back to Dave.
His fingers trembled as they fumbled into his pocket, pulling out a small red velvet box. He swayed slightly, his nerves betraying him. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
June's stomach twisted.
No.
No, he wouldn't..
"Dave," she warned, her voice laced with apprehension. "What are you up to?"
He let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around the box.
"You already know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her heart lodged itself in her throat.
This was happening.
Was she ready for this? Could she handle this?
They stood on the precipice of something irreversible, teetering on the edge of no return.
Dave sucked in a breath, finding his courage despite the fear dancing in his eyes. Slowly, he sank to one knee.
The box flipped open, revealing a ring that glimmered under the moon's glow.
Her legs wobbled.
June swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.
"I don't know if I'm ready," Dave confessed, his voice unsteady. "But I do know that you are the right one."
A nervous chuckle slipped from his lips as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist.
"You're the trouble I don't regret getting into," he said, smiling despite the obvious terror gripping him.
June exhaled, her chest tight.
"June, you bring out the best in me. Parts of me I didn't even know existed. And what I'm trying to say here is.."
Before he could finish, James' impatient voice rang from the small crowd of friends and family that had secretly gathered nearby.
"Just say the damn words!"
A sharp smack silenced him as Dora clamped her hand over his mouth. The others shot him warning glares.
But before Dave could speak again, the heavens lost their patience.
Without warning, the sky cracked open, and the rain poured.
The hidden crowd scattered for shelter, but June and Dave remained, frozen in the moment, their bodies drenched within seconds.
"I" Dave started, but fate seemed to be laughing at him tonight.
The ring box slipped from his wet fingers.
"No, no, no!"
He lunged for it, his hands scrambling under a tight gap in the rooftop tiles where it had rolled. His fingers strained, reaching, but the space was too small.
June crouched beside him, her heart still racing from the whirlwind of emotions.
Her gaze softened as she saw him, soaking wet, breathless, and desperately trying to retrieve the symbol of their future.
And in that moment, the last of her fears washed away.
She reached under the gap, her fingers smaller, more nimble. With a little struggle, she pulled the ring free.
Holding it between them, she looked into his eyes.
"Dave Ben Deen," she said, her voice firm, sure, "do you want me to marry you?"
His breath caught.
She didn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her rain-soaked lips to his.
Her fingers wove through his damp hair, her heart thundering against his.
"Do me the honor of putting my ring where it belongs," she whispered against his lips, stretching her hand forward.
Dave stared at her, stunned. Then, with a soft, disbelieving laugh, he took the ring from her fingers.
Slowly, reverently, he slid it onto her finger.
"Now you're tied to me forever," she said, smiling. "There's no going back."
His grip on her hand tightened.
"I'm more than willing to be stuck with you forever."
As the rain continued to pour, soaking them both to the bone, they remained where they were,two souls bound together in a love neither of them would ever walk away from.
Nothing else could go wrong now.
…Or could it?
"Dave."
The name rolled off her lips, smooth and unwavering, carrying a weight that halted him mid-step.
Dave turned, his breath catching as he laid eyes on her.
"Bella."
The name escaped him like an exhale, familiar yet distant, laced with a history that neither of them could erase.