Saraphina couldn't breathe.
Tears gathered in her lashes, the world around her melting into soft noise—muffled café chatter, passing footsteps, a car horn in the distance. None of it touched her.
Yes.
At last. I'll finally be his wife. Mrs. Miller.
Her fingers trembled at her sides. The tips of her shoes felt rooted to the pavement as Christian took a slow step closer, the roses in his hand crinkling slightly as he held them tight—like he, too, was trying to anchor himself.
The corners of his mouth lifted in a shaky smile.
"I... I didn't want to wait anymore," he said, his voice thick, soft—rough with emotion that caught in his throat.
Then, he lowered himself to one knee.
Gasps rippled through the growing crowd, but Saraphina didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide and wet.
Christian reached into his pocket, pulled out a small velvet box, and opened it.
Inside, a delicate ring winked in the light. Gold. Simple. But it gleamed like magic in that moment.
He looked up at her, not with pride or performance, but raw, breathless sincerity.
"Sara…" His voice cracked. "Marry me."
No speeches. No rehearsed lines.
Just those words. From his chest. From his soul.
And hers? Her heart beat against her ribs like wings about to take flight. She could barely speak.
Her lips trembled, parted on a breath. "Yes…" she whispered.
Then louder, firmer, through tears that ran freely now— "Yes, Christian, I will."
He stood—clumsily, urgently—his hands shaking as he slid the ring onto her finger. It was snug. A little too snug. But it settled against her skin like it had been waiting for her all her life.
Then he pulled her into him, his arms wrapping around her soft body. The bouquet bent between them. His grip, unsure, wasn't firm enough to gather her entirely—but she melted into him anyway.
"I love you so much," she whispered into his collarbone, her fingers clutching his shirt.
"I love you too," he murmured back, kissing the top of her head.
And in that second, she wasn't the girl sleeping in a storage room, biting back pain while washing dishes in silence. She wasn't the invisible helper to his mother and sister.
She was loved. Seen. Chosen.
She was his.
And he was hers.
The Next Day
Saraphina couldn't stop staring at her hand. The sunlight from the café window caught on the ring, and it glittered like something alive. She turned her hand slowly, admiring how it looked on her finger—even if it was a little tight.
"Can you not stare at that thing for five seconds?" Hazel asked, her voice flat, her expression unreadable.
Saraphina blinked, her cheeks flushing. "What?"
Hazel leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "The ring doesn't even fit. It's cutting into your finger. And he didn't notice that?"
Saraphina opened her mouth, then closed it.
Hazel didn't stop. "You're just… pretending everything's perfect."
"Why don't you like Christian?" Saraphina asked, quieter now. "Just… why?"
Lily, who had been listening quietly while sketching in her notebook, pushed her glasses up her nose. "Because you've given up everything for him."
Hazel nodded, arms still folded. "Yeah. That's it. You've stopped living for yourself, Phina. You live for him now. And that's scary."
Saraphina looked down at the ring again. It sparkled so prettily. Her throat felt tight.
"Can't you just be happy for me?" she asked, voice almost breaking. "I'm getting married."
Hazel's eyes narrowed. "You always dreamed of a beach proposal. Just the two of you. Barefoot. Something quiet, magical. You told us that a hundred times. But what did he give you? Balloons and a busy street."
Saraphina pressed her lips together, blinking fast.
Lily reached over and touched her hand gently. "We're not trying to ruin this moment for you. But you used to want more than just a ring. You had dreams, Phina. To be a Fashion designer, to own a label. You used to sew every night until your fingers ached."
Hazel added, "And now? You cook, clean, serve his family, sleep in a utility room, and say you're 'grateful.' That's not the girl we knew."
"I… I love him," Saraphina said, her voice barely a whisper.
"We know," Lily said softly. "But maybe just… love yourself a little too."
There was a long pause.
Then Lily squeezed her hand and smiled gently. "At least you should make your own wedding dress."
Saraphina looked up, startled.
"You should make it," Lily said, more firmly now. "You used to sketch bridal gowns in your journals. Remember? Don't give that up. Let both dreams come true—marry the man you love, and wear the dress you made with your own hands."
Hazel stepped closer, her tone finally softening. "And let us be your bridesmaids. We're not against your wedding. We just want you in it too."
Saraphina's eyes filled again, but this time not with confusion or defensiveness just emotion. Her throat tightened.
She looked at her two best friends. One blunt. One soft. Both honest.
And suddenly, everything spilled—laughter, tears, relief.
"I missed designing," she whispered.
"We missed you," Hazel said, wrapping an arm around her.
Lily joined them. Three women. One tight hug.
In that moment, she wasn't just someone's fiancée.
She was still herself.
And for the first time in a long time… that felt good.
After a joyful afternoon with Hazel and Lily laughing, dreaming, hugging like they hadn't in ages. Saraphina felt like the world was opening again.
Fiancée.
She whispered the word to herself as she stepped out of the taxi and adjusted the straps on her shoulder bag.
It sounded sweeter every time she said it.
Fiancée.
And now, even sweeter with her friends back by her side, believing in her again.
As the city wind brushed her cheeks, she clutched the small black gift bag tighter. Inside was a designer wristwatch—sleek, elegant, the kind Christian always admired.
It had cost her more than she could afford, slicing deep into the money she'd saved from weeks of double shifts at the café.
But he was worth it.
Or at least, that's what her heart believed.
She entered the small commercial building and rode the narrow elevator to the third floor—where Christian ran his startup with a handful of loyal employees.
It was a humble office space. Just one floor in a shared building. But it was his dream, and he was building it from scratch. She had seen the sleepless nights. The frustration. The excitement.
She had been there since the first call, the first file, the first rented desk.
As she stepped out of the elevator, one of the interns—a thin, nervous-looking boy named Collins—glanced up from his laptop, clearly startled to see her.
"Miss Saraphina... uh…"
"Hi," she smiled softly, her voice light. "Is Christian in?"
He hesitated. "Y-Yes, but..."
She didn't wait. Her heels clicked lightly on the tiled floor as she walked toward Christian's private office at the end of the hallway.
Someone from the admin desk whispered behind her, "Wait—she doesn't know that..."
But by then, the door had already swung open.
The lights were dimmed.
Christian wasn't at his desk.
A frown tugged at her lips.
She stepped inside, about to call his name—until her eyes landed on the closed door to the back room. It was barely visible, a partitioned corner space he used for rest.
A faux bedroom, really—a couch, a few throw pillows, and a lock when needed.
Maybe he's asleep, she thought.
Smiling faintly, she tiptoed across the floor and opened the door—
"Christian…"
And then—
She stopped breathing.
The smile dropped from her face like glass shattering.
Her heart stilled. Then thundered.
There, under the soft yellow glow of a desk lamp, was Christian.
His back faced her. He was shirtless, muscles flexing as he held a woman—her dress hitched up past her hips, legs wrapped tightly around his waist.
His pants were open.
Her arms were locked behind his neck, clutching him as she rocked against him.
The soft, wet slap of skin meeting skin filled the room.
"Christian…" the woman moaned, her voice high, breathless, desperate. "Right there... right there—"
Saraphina couldn't see her face. Just her back. Her wild hair tangled. Her nails dragging down Christian's spine.
Christian's face twisted—pleasure, possession.
He groaned, deep and low. "F—yes... don't stop..."
The velvet bag in Saraphina's hand dropped to the floor.
Thud!!
That small sound was the loudest thing in the room.