lizzyrose

  By morning, the whole thing with the locked door had vanished from my mind like fog burning off in the sun. No matter how hard I tried to recall why it bothered me, the memory slid away like a fish slipping through water.

  So, I moved on.

  Especially after yesterday, when I’d found the photographs hidden in Damien’s office—ndscapes, mountains, waterfalls, forests… and Willowy Springs. My Willowy Springs.

  The pce my parents built with their bare hands.

  Something about that made my chest warm and ache all at once.

  So, when Damien passed by my door that morning, adjusting his cufflinks like he owned the concept of time, I spoke without thinking:

  “Let’s go see a view.”

  He paused mid-step. “A view?”

  “Yeah.” I crossed my arms, pretending my heart wasn’t racing. “You collect all those pictures… but you never actually leave this mansion. Come on. Let’s go somewhere real.”

  His eyebrows lifted the tiniest bit—surprise, maybe amusement—but he nodded.

  “Alright then. You choose.”

  Of course I chose Willowy Springs.

  The drive felt strangely peaceful. I rested my forehead against the window, watching my childhood blur past in pieces—trees my mum pnted, roads my dad paved, sunlight catching on familiar stones.

  Damien didn’t say much. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he didn’t need to.

  When we arrived, my breath caught.

  The gates stood just as my dad designed them—strong wood, climbing vines, the little handmade sign that spelled “Willowy Springs” in my mum’s looping handwriting. Seeing it again felt like walking straight into a memory.

  “You didn’t tell me your parents built all this,” Damien said quietly.

  “You didn’t ask,” I replied, softer than I meant to.

  We walked down the trail, and for the first time since meeting him, Damien didn’t look like a billionaire or a CEO or a man made of walls. He looked… human. Almost gentle.

  At the springs, he stopped completely—eyes softening, shoulders lowering like the pce had pulled the weight off him.

  “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

  “My parents wanted it to feel alive,” I said. “A pce that listens.”

  He crouched by the water, letting it slip through his fingers.

  “You know… I used to like pces like this. Before everything got loud.”

  I sat beside him. “Loud how?”

  He didn’t look at me, just stared at the water.

  “Responsibility. Expectations. Being watched. Being needed. Being perfect.”

  A bitter ugh. “You lose pieces of yourself without noticing.”

  The honesty in his voice punched straight through me.

  So, I opened up too—about my parents, about how the Springs were my anchor, about feeling too small for a world that kept demanding more from me.

  For a little while, we weren’t an engagement deal.

  We weren’t billion-dolr expectations.

  We were just… people. Two tired souls sitting by the water our childhoods knew how to love.

  But peace never stays with me.

  When we walked back to the car, someone was waiting—leaning against it like he owned gravity. Arms folded. Eyes burning.

  Mark.

  My childhood friend. The boy who knew all my scars. The boy who could find me anywhere.

  “Rose,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.”

  My breath caught.

  “Mark, I—”

  His eyes flicked to Damien, sharp and unforgiving.

  “So, he brings you here now?”

  Damien stepped forward, calm but cold.

  “She suggested it.”

  Mark’s jaw tightened. “And you agreed.”

  The air snapped tight between them—two storms staring each other down.

  I suddenly felt like Willowy Springs wasn’t just my parents’ legacy anymore.

  It was the beginning of something messy.

  Something complicated.

  Something that could change everything.