---- It was tender and real, a promise without words. "Isabella, I love you," he murmured against my lips. "T love you too," I said, and for the first time in my life, the words weren't a desperate shield or a hopeful prayer. They were just true. Six months later, my nightmares had faded. Alexander's love was a balm on my scarred soul. "T have incredible news!" he said, rushing into my studio one afternoon. "The Venice Biennale has invited you to exhibit! You'!l be representing the United States!" The Venice Biennale. The stage every artist dreamed of. It was happening. To prepare, I created a new series: Phoenix. Each sculpture told a story of burning to ash and ---- rising again, stronger. The night before the Biennale opened, Alexander took me out on a private yacht. The moonlight danced on the Adriatic Sea. "Isabella," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he dropped to one knee. "This past year has been the best of my life." He opened a small velvet box. "Isabella Rossi, will you marry me?" The diamond was elegant and understated, just like him. "Yes," I breathed, tears blurring my vision. "Yes." He slipped the ring on my finger. It felt light, a perfect fit. "Isabella Reed," he whispered, testing the name. "It has a nice ring to it." This time, the name was a beginning, not a brand. ---- This time, it was mine to define.