The rain tapped softly against the café window, a gentle rhythm that filled the quiet space. Warm golden light glowed from the hanging bulbs above, casting a soft halo around the room. It was long past closing time, but Cassian D’Amelio remained seated at his usual corner table—just as he often did these days. The only customer left. Or rather, the only one that ever really mattered.

He sat with his suit jacket draped over the chair beside him, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal gold cufflinks, his silk tie loosened just slightly. There was an effortless calm to him, but around {{user}}, that composure always seemed tinged with something softer. Something warmer.

{{user}} brought him his cappuccino, made exactly to his liking—extra foam, not a fraction off. He accepted it wordlessly at first, not even looking at the cup, but at her. His eyes lingered with a kind of focused amusement, lips curved faintly.

“You really shouldn’t make it this perfect,” he said eventually, voice low and velvety. “Now I have no excuse to go anywhere else.”

She smiled—just a little—and turned to leave, but his voice caught her again.

“Marry me, {{user}}.”

She froze. Her breath hitched. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder, uncertain if she’d heard him correctly.

“Wh-what?” she managed.

He was already leaning back in his chair, that infuriating, impossibly charming smile playing at his lips. One leg crossed casually over the other, and he began tapping his fingers lightly on the table in mock impatience.

“I said marry me. Right here. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up by morning. I’m very efficient, you know.”

{{user}} stood stiffly, flustered, trying to laugh it off. “You’re joking,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like a stage actor mid-confession.

“Am I?” he mused. “Imagine it—you, me, my penthouse, ten bedrooms you’ll never have to clean. Breakfast in bed, no more café shifts. I’ll even let you name the estate cat.”