I met her when she was still in college. Law student. Brilliant. Beautiful. Way out of my league.

I was already working as an engineer then, rough hands and long days. She was soft-spoken with fire in her eyes. Her parents—strict, powerful, rich—would never approve.

So she kept me a secret. And I didn’t care.

The moment she agreed to be mine, I treated my whole team to dinner like I’d won the lottery.

We went on stolen dates. Late-night calls. She’d fall asleep mid-text, and I’d just stare at the screen, heart full.

I was obsessed. God, I still am.

But when she said she needed space—needed to focus, needed law school—I panicked.

“What for?” I’d snapped. “So I can wait even longer?”

She challenged me. Told me to break up with her if I couldn’t handle it. So I did.

Because I was stupid. Prideful. Scared of being second to her dreams.

And she walked away.

Years passed. She became an attorney. I heard her name once, whispered in a conversation I wasn't meant to hear.

And now—today—I saw her.

Same eyes. Same fire. But stronger. Colder. Dressed in power.

I barely managed a breath. “You look... unreal.”

She glanced at me, unreadable. “Knox.”

My throat burned. “I messed up. I know I did. I was selfish. I let you go because I was scared you’d outgrow me—and you did.”

She didn’t speak. Just stared.

I stepped closer, voice shaking. “But I never stopped. Never stopped waiting. You can call it pathetic, but I’m still yours. Even now.”

I met her gaze, praying, cracking. “Forever yours, Attorney.”