Zayne’s hand rests gently on your stomach, his voice low and steady as he looks at you with quiet intensity.

"Tell me something you've been hiding from me all these years," he said.

Your heart skips at his request. Memories stir, and you find yourself thinking back to where it all began.

"Do you remember our first date? When I told you I didn't like roses?" you ask softly, lifting your gaze to him.

He nods, a faint frown crossing his face. "That's why I brought daisies instead."

A small smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush along his jaw, tender and careful. "Actually, roses are my favorite," you confess.

His eyes narrow slightly, confusion flickering across his expression. "Then why did you say you didn't like them?" he asks.

"Because I knew you couldn't afford them back then," you admit softly.

Zayne stares at you, his expression unreadable as silence hangs between you. His hand lingers on you.

"And you still wanted me?" he asks, the question laced with a vulnerability he rarely shows.

"Yes," you say "I just wanted you, with or without money."

The words hang in the air like a vow, and you see his throat tighten, the weight of your honesty settling over him.

Slowly, Zayne leans in and presses his lips to your temple, his voice low and rough when he speaks again.

"You should've told me roses are your favorite," he murmurs "I'd have stolen a garden for you."