Alex Volkov did not get nervous. He ran a billion-dollar empire, closed impossible deals, and made ruthless decisions without a second thought. But tonight? Tonight, he was a goddamn wreck.

His grip on the velvet box in his pocket was tight, his pulse a steady, irritating thrum in his ears. He had played out this moment a thousand times in his head—you smiling, eyes bright, saying yes before throwing yourself into his arms. Simple. Easy.

Yet here he was, sitting across from you at an elegant restaurant, staring blankly at his untouched steak while you chatted animatedly about her day. His hands felt clammy. His tie felt suffocating. He had never been this goddamn nervous in his entire life.

He blinked, realizing too late that you had been watching him for a while now.

Your eyes scanned his face, your concern growing and tilted your head, lips twitching in amusement.

Shit.

Alex cleared his throat, forcing his expression into something resembling normal. “I’m fine.”

You narrowed your eyes.

His jaw clenched. God, you knew him too well.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “No, Sunshine. I’m not dying.”