I tried to pretend nothing had changed after that day in the library.
I tried to focus on my lectures. My assignments. My normal life.
But everything felt different.
Because now I knew.
Damien hadn't been casually present.
He had stayed.
For me.
And that knowledge did something dangerous to my heart.
For three days, he didn't approach me.
He didn't hover.
He didn't wait outside my classes.
But I felt him.
Like gravity.
And then, on Friday evening, my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
My heart already knew.
"Meet me at the courtyard. 7pm.
Wear something that makes you feel beautiful. – D"
I stared at the message for a full minute.
Was this a date?
Was this a confession?
Or was I overthinking?
By 6:45pm, I was standing in front of my mirror, adjusting my hair for the fifth time.
I wore a simple cream dress — soft fabric that hugged my waist gently. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud.
But I felt pretty.
And nervous.
By the time I reached the courtyard, the sky had turned a deep violet. The fountain lights glowed softly. The jacaranda tree swayed gently in the evening breeze.
And there he was.
Black suit.
No tie.
Hands in pockets.
Looking like he stepped out of a dream.
He turned when he heard my footsteps.
And when his eyes landed on me…
He stopped breathing.
I saw it.
That moment.
"Kylee," he said quietly.
The way he said my name always felt personal. Like it belonged to him.
"You look…" He exhaled slowly. "…dangerous."
I laughed nervously. "Dangerous?"
"Yes."
He walked toward me slowly.
"Because now I understand why I can't leave."
My heart thudded.
"You said you had a board meeting," I reminded him softly.
"I did."
"And?"
"I postponed it."
My eyes widened. "Damien!"
He smiled slightly. "Relax. I run the company. I'm allowed."
"You shouldn't keep rearranging your life for me."
"I'm not rearranging," he said calmly. "I'm prioritizing."
That word sent warmth through my chest.
He stopped in front of me, closer than before. But not overwhelming.
The air felt charged again.
"I asked you to come tonight," he said, voice softer now, "because I don't want to pretend anymore."
My pulse quickened.
"Pretend what?"
"That this is casual."
My breath caught.
He stepped closer.
"Kylee," he said gently, "I don't do half feelings."
My fingers trembled slightly at my sides.
"When I choose something," he continued, "I choose it completely."
I couldn't look away from him.
"And I've chosen you."
The words hit me like a wave.
"I don't even know what that means," I whispered.
"It means I love you."
The world stopped.
Actually stopped.
The fountain. The breeze. The distant chatter from students walking past.
Everything faded.
"You—" My voice broke. "You love me?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
"Yes."
"But how?" I breathed.
He cupped my face gently in his hands.
Not forceful.
Not claiming.
Just holding.
"Because loving you feels like peace," he said quietly. "You calm the parts of me that have always been restless."
My eyes filled slightly.
"You don't love my money," he continued. "You don't love my name. You don't even love the version of me the world sees."
His thumb brushed softly along my cheek.
"You love the man who watches you when you think no one is looking."
My breath trembled.
"And I've never had that before."
My heart felt too full.
"I'm younger than you," I whispered.
"I know."
"Your family won't approve."
"I know."
"My family already thinks you're too old."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Ten years isn't ancient."
I let out a shaky laugh.
"I'm naïve," I admitted.
"Yes," he said softly.
My eyes widened.
"And that's exactly why I want to protect your heart, not break it."
Something inside me melted.
"You're not afraid?" I asked.
"Of what?"
"Of loving me?"
He leaned his forehead gently against mine.
"I'm afraid of losing you."
The intimacy of that moment made my chest ache.
I closed my eyes.
"Say something," he murmured.
I swallowed.
"I don't know when it happened," I whispered. "But somewhere between you standing too close in the library and you telling me you stayed because of me…"
I looked up at him.
"I fell too."
His breath hitched.
"You love me?" he asked quietly.
I nodded.
"Yes."
That was all it took.
He kissed me.
Soft at first.
Gentle.
Like he was testing whether I would pull away.
I didn't.
His lips moved slowly against mine — unhurried, careful.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't overwhelming.
It was warm.
Safe.
My hands instinctively lifted and rested against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat under my palms — steady but strong.
He deepened the kiss slightly, one hand sliding to my waist.
Still respectful.
Still controlled.
But there was hunger there.
Not reckless hunger.
Intentional.
When he pulled back slightly, my lips chased his without thinking.
A small, surprised smile touched his mouth.
"Careful," he whispered against my lips.
"Why?" I whispered back.
"Because I'm trying to behave."
I laughed softly, my nose brushing his.
"Maybe don't," I teased.
His eyes darkened playfully.
"Oh?"
Before I could react, he kissed my cheek.
Then my other cheek.
Then my forehead.
Soft playful pecks that made me giggle.
"Damien," I protested lightly.
"Yes?"
"You're ruining my serious romantic moment."
"I thought this was romantic."
"It is," I admitted, smiling.
He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth slowly.
"Better?" he murmured.
"Yes."
He wrapped his arms around me fully this time, pulling me into his chest.
And I fit there.
Perfectly.
Like I belonged.
We stayed like that for a long moment.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
"You're mine," he said softly.
The words could have felt possessive.
But they didn't.
They felt safe.
"And you're mine," I whispered.
He pulled back slightly to look at me.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes."
"This won't be easy."
"I know."
"My family will fight this."
"Then we'll fight back."
A slow smile.
"You're braver than you think."
"No," I said softly. "I'm just in love."
That made him kiss me again.
Longer this time.
Deeper.
His hand resting securely at my waist, thumb brushing gently over the fabric of my dress.
My fingers slid into his hair.
Soft.
Thick.
And he made the smallest sound against my lips — like restraint barely held.
When he finally pulled away, we were both breathless.
"That," he said quietly, "was worth postponing London."
I laughed softly.
"Don't say that."
"I will say it every time I kiss you."
I rolled my eyes playfully.
He leaned down and pressed another quick peck to my lips.
"See?"
"You're impossible."
"And you love it."
I did.
He intertwined his fingers with mine again.
"So," he said softly, "are we official?"
I smiled.
"Yes."
He kissed my knuckles.
"Good."
Then he surprised me again — lifting my hand and spinning me gently under the courtyard lights.
I laughed, the sound echoing softly.
When I faced him again, his expression had shifted.
Less playful.
More serious.
"I don't want to hide you," he said quietly.
My smile faded slightly.
"You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
My heart fluttered.
"Then don't," I whispered.
He leaned in one last time, brushing his lips softly against mine.
Slow.
Intentional.
Promise-filled.
That was the night Damien Hart chose me.
Not because I was convenient.
Not because I was easy.
But because he loved me.
Deeply.
And as I walked back to my dorm later that night, lips still warm from his kisses, heart full in a way I'd never known before…
I realized something.
The love I imagined — the kind I thought only existed in stories —
Was standing under a jacaranda tree in a black suit.
And he had chosen me.