One year later, every curtain in the Corso estate was open.

Fay noticed because she had once opened them one by one.

Back then, the third floor had smelled of stale air and anger. Dominic had hidden in darkness, daring anyone to enter.

Now sunlight filled the bedroom.

The broken books had been repaired.

The expensive rug had been replaced—not because of oatmeal stains, Dominic insisted, but because “the wheels hated it.”

Fay believed neither explanation nor man.

She stood before the mirror fastening earrings.

“You're late.”

Dominic's voice came from behind her.

“I’m not.”

“Seven minutes.”

“That isn't late.”

“It is if I’ve been waiting.”

She turned.

For one moment, the sight of him still had the power to steal her breath.

Dominic sat in his wheelchair wearing a black suit, white shirt open at the collar, tattoos visible near one wrist.

His hair was shorter now.

His face healthier.

The hollow darkness in his eyes was gone.

Not all pain had disappeared.

Some never would.

He still used the wheelchair most of the day.

He could stand with braces and support.

On exceptionally good days, he could take several assisted steps with a walker.

On difficult days, spasms sent him back to bed.

Recovery had not become the miracle strangers liked to imagine.

It became something better.

Reality.

Slow.

Frustrating.

Imperfect.

His life was not waiting for a cure before beginning.

Fay had taught him that.

Dominic had taught her something too.

Survival wasn't supposed to become a permanent personality.

Sometimes people were allowed to stop fighting long enough to live.

“You're staring,” he said.

“You're vain.”

“You were staring.”

“I was thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Fay approached and adjusted his collar.

Dominic's hands settled lightly on her waist.

“You look beautiful.”

She wore a simple dark green dress.

No diamonds.

No designer label.

Dominic had learned better than to surprise her with expensive clothing.

He had once bought her a coat.

She made him return it.

He bought her boots.

She accepted those only because her old pair had finally split completely.

They had compromised.

Fay allowed thoughtful gifts.

Dominic stopped attaching price tags to affection.

“What time does the ceremony start?” she asked.

“Six.”

“And you're rushing me at four thirty?”

“I have plans.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What plans?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“That usually means you're doing something irritating.”

He smiled.

“Come downstairs.”

The estate had changed during the past year.

So had the Corso empire.

Some businesses were sold.

Others legitimized.

Illegal operations were shut down one by one.

It cost Dominic allies.

Money.

Influence.

For several months it almost cost him his life as powerful men resisted.

But Dominic no longer wanted to rule through fear.

He kept the logistics companies.

Construction firms.

Restaurants.

Several waterfront properties.

Carmine became director of security for the legitimate corporation and complained constantly that board meetings were more dangerous than criminals.

Matteo eventually pleaded guilty to financial conspiracy, corruption, and charges connected to Dominic's crash.

The evidence spoke louder than revenge ever could.

Dominic never visited him.

When asked why, he simply said, “I already gave him too many years.”

Fay respected that answer more than any threat Dominic could have made.

Her own life had changed too.

Dominic offered to pay her rent permanently.

She threatened to resign.

Instead, he helped her find a better apartment at market price.

Then, three months into their relationship, Fay decided to enroll in a professional caregiving and rehabilitation-support program.

She paid the tuition herself.

Mostly.

Dominic secretly funded a scholarship through the school.

Fay discovered it.

They argued for two days.

Eventually she allowed the scholarship to remain after learning it would support ten additional students.

“That is manipulative,” she told him.

“Philanthropic.”

“Manipulative philanthropy.”

“My specialty.”

Now she was six months from certification.

And she no longer worked as Dominic's maid.

That had lasted exactly two weeks after their first kiss.

Mrs. Gable had ended it.

“I refuse to schedule a woman to clean her boyfriend's bathroom,” she'd announced.

Dominic laughed for approximately ten minutes.

Fay threatened both of them with a mop.

Downstairs, the house buzzed with activity.

Cook prepared trays.

Mrs. Gable directed staff.

Carmine wore a tuxedo and looked deeply unhappy about it.

Fay stopped.

“Why is everyone dressed up already?”

Dominic continued rolling toward the garden doors.

“No reason.”

“Dominic.”

“Fay.”

“Don't imitate me.”

“I wasn't.”

“You absolutely were.”

Outside, rows of chairs had been arranged beneath the old oak trees.

Fay stared.

White flowers.

Candles.

Musicians.

Dozens of familiar faces.

Her classmates.

Mrs. Gable.

Cook.

Dr. Elena Ruiz.

Several employees from Dominic's companies.

Even Mr. Benson, her former landlord, stood awkwardly near the back.

Fay turned slowly.

“What did you do?”

Dominic looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“You remember the community rehabilitation foundation?”

“Yes.”

Months earlier, Fay and Dominic had started planning a nonprofit to provide home accessibility equipment, transportation, caregiver assistance, and rehabilitation grants for people whose insurance or income left enormous gaps.

Fay had insisted that Dominic's name not appear across everything.

Dominic had complained.

Fay won.

“Today is the opening?” she asked.

“Partly.”

“Partly?”

Mrs. Gable appeared.

“Go stand by the fountain.”

Fay stared at her.

“You're involved.”

“Obviously.”

“You've all been lying to me.”

“We prefer 'protecting the surprise.'”

Carmine walked past.

“Lying.”

Mrs. Gable glared.

Fay crossed the garden.

Dominic stopped near the fountain.

An elegant building stood beyond the trees.

The old guesthouse had been renovated.

Above the entrance, a simple sign read:

THE OPEN WINDOW FOUNDATION

Fay covered her mouth.

Dominic watched her reaction.

“You named it after the curtains?”

“You opened them.”

Tears immediately filled her eyes.

“Oh, no.”

He laughed.

“I haven't even started.”

“Dominic.”

He reached into his jacket.

Fay froze.

“Don't.”

His eyebrows rose.

“I haven't done anything.”

“I know what that shape is.”

“What shape?”

“The small-box shape.”

Guests nearby began laughing.

Fay looked mortified.

“You invited an audience?”

“You'll understand.”

He removed a small velvet box.

Then he looked at the wheelchair.

A mischievous expression crossed his face.

“I was informed tradition requires me to get down on one knee.”

Fay laughed through tears.

“Don't you dare.”

“Fortunately, I have spent the past year learning that traditions can adapt.”

He opened the box.

Inside sat a modest ring.

Elegant.

Simple.

Exactly the kind Fay would choose.

Her hand covered her mouth.

Dominic's expression became serious.

A year earlier, he would have prepared a speech designed to control every emotion in the room.

Now he simply told the truth.

“When you walked into my house, I thought I had lost everything that made me a man.”

Fay shook her head, crying.

“You hadn't.”

“I know.”

His voice softened.

“Because you made me understand that strength wasn't walking into a room. It wasn't frightening people. It wasn't money, power, or making sure nobody could hurt me.”

He took her hand.

“Strength was waking up when I hated waking up.”

Mrs. Gable wiped her eyes.

“Trying again when yesterday went badly.”

Elena smiled.

“Apologizing when I was wrong.”

Carmine muttered, “Still working on that one.”

Laughter rippled through the guests.

Dominic glared at him.

Then smiled.

“And loving somebody enough to let her choose.”