Chapter 83
LEVI
As I stepped back into the hallway, I exhaled sharply, trying to shake the lingering unease. The past year had been a blur—taking over the family business, trying to fill shoes that never truly fit. There were gaps in my memory, moments that felt stolen from me.
I had once been different. Before the accident. Before I lost my phone, my accounts—my carefully curated life as Mr. L. That life had been an escape. A world where I could be who I truly was. Where control wasn’t about boardrooms and stock prices but about trust. About power, exchanged freely. But after the accident, nothing felt right. No one was perfect anymore. So, I had walked away from it all.
Jenna would never understand that side of me. I knew it. That’s why I’d never touched her that way. I wasn’t sure I could take her the way I used to take a woman—fully, completely, with nothing held back. It wasn’t about her. It was about me. I think I’ve lost that spark—that raw craving—as if someone had ripped it out of me.
And maybe, if someone could rip it out, someone could give it back. But I didn’t know. I had resigned myself to the possibility that I’d never find a perfect sub.
My steps quickened as I returned to the dining hall, forcing a smile as Jenna turned to look at me, her eyes filled with hope.
Tonight, I would propose.
Because the past was gone.
Because my father was right.
I even had the ring—the one she had lingered over at the jewelry store. She hadn’t said anything, but I had noticed. I had bought it and kept it.
Later, when we retired to my room, anxiety clawed at my chest. Was I making the right choice? I shoved the thought aside, burying my doubts in the certainty my father had drilled into me: love was a luxury, not a necessity.
Jenna stepped out of the en-suite bathroom just as I was about to drift off. Wrapped in a towel, steam curling behind her, candlelight painted her in gold. She looked ethereal, the fabric barely clinging to her damp skin as she walked toward me.
I was torn—between proposing and finally making love to her.
I stood and pulled her close, inhaling the sweetness of her shampoo—lavender and vanilla. She looked up at me and giggled.
“What now?” she asked playfully.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I captured her lips in a kiss meant to silence my hesitation. She melted into me, her body molding to mine as my hands explored her curves. My grip tightened, lifting her slightly as I pressed her against me.
She moaned softly, her hands tangling in my hair. “Seems you’re not waiting till marriage anymore,” she teased against my lips.
The atmosphere was perfect. The lighting was dim and warm, the rustle of silk sheets filling the room as I backed her toward the bed.
Then her hand shot out, stopping me from loosening her towel.
I froze, breath uneven, towering over her as I waited for the answer behind her eyes.
She didn’t speak right away. She stepped back, searching my face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice steady, though my mind was reeling.
“You came to tell me something, didn’t you?” she whispered.
The air shifted. I exhaled and reached into my pocket. The velvet box felt heavier than it should have.
“Marry me, Jenna. Be my wife. Be the mother of my children.”
The words came more easily than I expected. For a moment, silence stretched between us—poised between fate and decision.
Then her eyes lit up. She rushed forward, arms around my neck.
“I’ve waited so long to hear this! Thank you—I love you!” she cried, kissing my cheeks over and over.
I pulled back slightly, my hand brushing the edge of her towel.
“That means you’ll have me now?” she teased, tilting her head, a smirk curving her lips.
My body screamed yes.
But something inside me said no.
My heart pounded for another reason. I swallowed hard and shook my head.
“Let’s wait till marriage. We’re already there,” I said, turning away and heading to the closet.
Leaning against the wooden doors, I exhaled sharply. God, what was wrong with me? I was hard. I was needy. But I didn’t want to go through with it.
It felt like I was waiting for something.
Someone.
I rubbed my temples. There was a wedding to plan now. We’d keep it small, intimate. Uncle Julius would fly in from Puerto Rico. My father would be there, beaming with pride.
My mother would not attend.
After the accident, she never came to see me. Never checked in. My father had been right—she was a monster. She had a new family somewhere else. She was dead to me.
Just like love—real love—was dead to me too.
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