---- Chapter 16 In Paris, Amelia' s star continued to rise. Her designs for the SoHo hotel were a sensation, her Aethel brand gaining international recognition. Mark Donovan remained a constant, steady presence in her life, He didn't crowd her, didn't make demands. He was simply... there. Bringing her coffee on cold mornings, leaving a single perfect rose on her work table, offering a quiet word of encouragement when self-doubt crept in. He celebrated her successes as if they were his own, his pride in her genuine and unassuming. His quiet, thoughtful support was a balm to her soul, a stark contrast to Ethan' s dismissive arrogance. One snowy evening, as they walked home from her atelier, the city lights twinkling around them, Mark gently took her hand. His touch was warm, hesitant. Amelia' s breath hitched. She looked up at him, at his kind eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. ---- She had been so focused on her work, on her healing, that she hadn't allowed herself to consider... more. But his touch, his quiet devotion, stirred something within her, a warmth she hadn't felt in a very long time. A fragile hope. A sudden downpour sent them scurrying for cover under a shop awning. Amelia slipped on the wet cobblestones, and Mark' s arm shot out, steadying her, pulling her close. For a moment, they stood there, wrapped in the scent of rain and damp wool, his hand on her waist, her heart thudding against his. He looked down at her, his gaze intense, searching. She saw her own surprise, her own dawning awareness, reflected in his eyes. The air crackled with unspoken emotion. He leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, and his lips met hers, a soft, tentative kiss that tasted of rain and hope. Amelia found herself incorporating small, hidden tributes to Mark in her designs. A particular shade of blue, the color of his eyes, in a new fabric print. ---- The subtle curve of a butterfly wing, reminiscent of their first meeting, embroidered on the cuff of a sleeve. It was her way of acknowledging the growing affection she felt for him, an affection that was gentle, trusting, and utterly terrifying. She was opening her heart again, and the vulnerability was immense. But Mark' s love was a safe harbor, not a battlefield. One week, Amelia fell ill with a severe flu. Mark nursed her with a devotion that was both touching and overwhelming. He stayed by her side, day and night, coaxing her to eat, bringing her cool cloths for her fevered brow, reading to her softly until she drifted off to sleep. He never complained, never seemed burdened. His care was selfless, unconditional. She remembered Ethan, during a similar illness years ago, complaining about the inconvenience, leaving her alone for days while he attended parties with Jessica. The contrast was a painful, yet healing, reminder of how far she had come. As Amelia recovered, Mark sat by her bed, a playful smile on ---- his lips. "You talk in your sleep, you know," he said, his eyes twinkling. Amelia blushed. "Oh no. What did | say?" "You kept calling me 'your knight in shining armor'," he teased. "And something about 'slaying dragons named Ethan and Jessica'." Amelia groaned, hiding her face in her hands, but she was laughing. The shared laughter, the easy intimacy, it was a precious gift. She looked at Mark, at his kind, loving face, and felt a wave of gratitude so profound it brought tears to her eyes. He had shown her what real love, healthy love, looked like. A few months later, on a sunny afternoon in a field of lavender in Provence, Mark got down on one knee. He held out a small, velvet box. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was not a diamond, but a simple, elegant bracelet, intricately woven from silver and gold threads, with a tiny, perfect butterfly charm. "Amelia Hayes," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes shining with love. "You are the strongest, most resilient, most talented woman | have ever known. You are my best friend, my inspiration, my heart." ---- He took her hand. "I don't want to change you. | don't want to own you. | just want to walk beside you, to support your dreams, to love you, for the rest of my life. Will you marry me, Amelia?" Tears streamed down Amelia's face as she nodded, unable to speak. He slid the bracelet onto her wrist. It felt... right. Not a shackle, but a promise. A promise of a shared future, built on trust, respect, and a love that healed, rather than wounded.