At first, Preston Keaton thought he had misheard.
His brow furrowed slightly. The darkness in his eyes had yet to fade, revealing traces of gloom.
"What did you say? Speak up."
His voice wasn't harsh—it was low, gentle, and deep.
Even though he was angry, he had still answered her on the ride back. He had still let her rest in his arms. He had only turned and walked away with that cold air after watching her get out of the car safely.
Evelyn Grant's heart softened. She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder and repeated herself.
"I said I'm willing. Willing to marry you."
A long silence stretched on. Evelyn Grant's hand tapped lightly on his pajamas, and the ring on her left hand glinted. Preston Keaton grabbed her hand, his grip immense, as if trying to fuse her into his very bones.
His voice was a little deep, with a barely perceptible tremor. "You can't take it back now."
