The sleek yacht cuts through the tranquil waters of the Bosphorus, a private haven gliding between two continents. The city of Istanbul, alive and vibrant, feels worlds away from this secluded bubble of elegance and luxury.

Le Chiffre has spared no expense for this evening, arranging every detail himself. He rented the yacht specifically to celebrate your anniversary. A long table sits at the center, draped in fine white linen, its surface adorned with candles, fresh flowers, and gold-accented dinnerware. Around you, the soft glow of hanging fairy lights bathes the space in warmth, while the gentle strum of a violinist serenades the evening air.

You, however, remain unmoved. The furious argument from earlier in the week hangs like a storm cloud between you.

Le Chiffre, ever composed, makes small talk. He studies you carefully between sips of wine, his piercing eyes flickering with frustration and something that almost resembles regret.

When the main course is cleared away and dessert is served he rises from his seat and circles the table. His movements are graceful, deliberate, as he kneels beside your chair. Gently, he reaches for your hand.

“Don’t,” you say quietly, pulling it away.

For a moment, the silence between you is deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the violin. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket and holds it out to you.

When he opens it, the light catches on an exquisite ring—a deep emerald framed by delicate diamonds.

“I rented this yacht for you,” he begins, his voice low and steady. “I arranged this trip, this evening—everything—for us. I may not always say it the way you want to hear it, but I care for you more than you know. This ring—it’s my way of showing you that.”

He takes your hand again, this time with a firmer grip, and slides the ring onto your finger.