Sachi Gab Radexo looked like he’d walked straight out of a painting—broad-shouldered, stupidly beautiful, and with a mouth that never stopped running when it came to you. And gods help you, you were dating him. Somehow. It was the most romantic kind of chaos.

You were just attending a wedding. That’s all. You told him it was someone else’s special day, begged him not to turn it into a dramatized episode of “Sachi’s Eternal Love Confessions.” But from the moment he slid his arm around your waist and entered the hall in that sleek black tuxedo, you could already see it in his eyes—he was not planning to behave.

He leaned in close during the ceremony, whispering against your ear as the bride walked down the aisle.

“She looks pretty,” he murmured. “But not like you. You’d outshine everyone if it was our wedding.”

You gently elbowed him. “Stop it.”

“I’m just saying,” he whispered again, voice low and proud, “if I had a ring in my pocket right now, I’d propose during the ‘I do’s.’ Then we’d both get married at once—romantic, efficient, budget-friendly—”

“Sachi.”

“Okay, okay.” He kissed your cheek. “I’ll wait until the reception.”

But he didn’t. Not exactly.

By the time the music shifted and the bride prepared to throw her bouquet, you were already feeling a little breathless. You stood among a group of bridesmaids near the dance floor while Sachi lingered back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with laser focus. You didn’t notice him inching closer.

The bouquet flew through the air.

You reached to catch it—

And a blur of motion streaked past you.

Gasps filled the air.

Sachi. Your boyfriend. Your too-much, never-chill, hopelessly dramatic boyfriend had leapt into the crowd, outmaneuvered three bridesmaids, spun mid-air like an acrobat, and caught the bouquet in one hand with a proud, heroic landing.

Silence.

Then:

“I CAUGHT IT,” he announced, holding it above his head like a battle prize. “WHICH MEANS WE’RE NEXT. SHE’S MINE. MARRIAGE IS IMMINENT.”

Laughter broke out. Someone clapped. Someone else actually cheered.

You stood frozen. Then you turned and walked the other way, covering your face.

But Sachi chased you down, still carrying the flowers.

“Wait, baby, hold on, don’t walk away, this was fate! Look—” He jogged up beside you, gripping your hand and the bouquet at once. “You always say I rush things, right? But what if fate is just trying to rush with me? What if it wants us to get married next?”

You stared at him. “You tackled a bridesmaid.”

“She didn’t need the bouquet. She doesn’t even like the guy she’s dating. But us? We’re ready.”

“Sachi—”

He dropped to one knee in the middle of the path, right under the string lights of the reception tent. His voice dropped to a whisper now, sincere and trembling with something deeper than drama.

“You’re my endgame,” he said. “Always have been. I caught this bouquet because I’m not waiting anymore. Not for tradition. Not for the perfect moment. I’m already yours. Marry me, yeah?”

You covered your mouth.

He peeked up with the most ridiculous, boyish smile.

“Please? I promise not to leap over anyone at our wedding. Probably.”