Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

“Come on,” Azalea said, grabbing Eliza’s hand. “You haven’t seen the best part p>

It was an hour later. Dallas was inside, ostensibly on a conference call. Azalea dragged Eliza toward the far end of the property, past the infinity pool, to where a walled garden stood built of old stone that looked as though it had been there for a century.

“Dad is weirdly obsessed with this part,” Azalea said, pushing the wooden gate open.

Eliza stepped inside.

The breath left her body.

It was a rose garden — but not just any roses.

They were white roses. Hundreds of them. The bushes were mature and lush, heavy with blooms, and the scent was overwhelming — sweet, heady, and achingly nostalgic.

“Winchester Cathedrals,” Eliza whispered.

Her mother’s favorite flower. The same roses that had filled the Solomon garden before the bank took the house. They were notoriously difficult to grow in this climate.

𝖱𝘦𝗮𝘥 𝗼𝗻 𝘢𝘯y 𝗱e𝘃𝗂с𝘦 o𝗻

“How —” She touched one of the velvet petals.

Azalea leaned against the stone wall. “Dad has been obsessed with this garden ever since he bought the place. Hired some specialist from England just to keep these specific roses alive. Says they’re for the ‘future lady of the house,’ or some other corny line like that p>

Eliza went still.

“Ever since he bought the place?” she asked. “We weren’t — I didn’t know him then. Not really p>

“He knew you,” Azalea said softly, watching her with a quiet smile. “He knew you loved them p>

Eliza’s heart hammered against her ribs. The timeline didn’t fit a sudden business arrangement. It didn’t fit a marriage of convenience.

He had been cultivating this garden for someone. For her.

Dallas appeared at the gate. He was still in his casual clothes, hands in his pockets, and he wore an expression she had never seen on him before — something uncertain, almost tentative. Like a boy who had just handed over a valentine and was bracing to be turned away.

Azalea caught Eliza’s eye and winked. “I’m going to go find snacks. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do p>

She slipped past Dallas and disappeared, leaving them alone in the sea of white petals.

Eliza turned to face him. Her eyes were wet.

“Why?” she asked. “Why these flowers p>

Dallas walked in. The gate clicked shut behind him.

“Because they are resilient,” he said, his voice low. “They survive the frost. Like you p>

“You didn’t marry me for a deal, did you?” Eliza asked. Her voice trembled.

Dallas stopped inches from her, tall enough to block out the sun. He reached out, and his hand — rough and warm — cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped.

“I married you because I couldn’t watch you break anymore,” he admitted.

It wasn’t a declaration of love. Not explicitly. But it was heavy with it.

Eliza looked into his eyes and saw the depth there — the patience, the quiet and terrifying intensity of a man who would wait years simply to plant a flower she might love.

She wasn’t a pawn. She was the queen on his chessboard.

A wind moved through the garden, scattering white petals around them like snow.

Dallas leaned down. Eliza didn’t pull away. She tilted her face up, her eyes closing.

He didn’t kiss her lips.

He pressed his mouth to her forehead instead — a firm, lingering kiss. A kiss of reverence. A kiss of possession.

“Welcome home, Eliza,” he whispered against her skin.

Eliza exhaled a breath she felt she had been holding for five years. The walls around her heart didn’t just crack. They crumbled into dust.

From the second-story window, Mrs. Higgins watched them. She smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. The master was finally happy.