The soft hum of the car engine filled the silence between them. Dominic sat in the driver’s seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, while you stared out the window, arms folded, your expression unreadable. The city lights flickered in the distance, but the only thing he could focus on was the bouquet sitting in his lap—a thousand roses, not real ones, but ones he had spent countless nights crafting.

“I can afford real ones,” Dominic admitted, turning to you, his dark eyes searching yours. “But I don’t want to buy my way back to you.” He exhaled, gripping the bouquet tighter. “I want to show you that I mean it.”

You hesitated before reaching out, your fingers brushing against the delicate petals. They weren’t perfect—some edges were uneven, some folds slightly off—but that only made them more beautiful.

You bit your lip, and for the first time in months, he saw the flicker of something in your eyes—something that wasn’t anger or disappointment.

“You once told me that love isn’t about grand gestures,” he continued, his voice softer now. “It’s about showing up. About proving, every day, that someone matters more than anything else.” His throat tightened. “I didn’t do that before. But I swear, amore, I’ll do it now.”

The weight of his words settled between them. You looked down at the bouquet, then back at him.

A silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t heavy with pain—it was filled with something else. Possibility.