Chapter 6 - The Proposal
The brownstone living room was completely silent, save for the soft rustle of the wind against the garden windows outside.
Abigail sat frozen on the velvet sofa, her hand resting in Matteo’s large, warm palm, staring at the glittering diamond ring in the velvet box. Her mind raced through a thousand chaotic thoughts—from the cold, chaotic ballroom four days ago to this towering, powerful billionaire kneeling mentally before her.
“Matteo...” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You... you don't need to do this. You’ve already given me a home, security, healthcare... You don't have to marry me to protect me.”
Matteo looked up into her brown eyes, his gray gaze fierce and absolute.
“Do you think I am proposing to you out of obligation, Abigail?” he asked softly.
“Isn't it?” Abigail countered gently, tears glistening in her eyes. “You feel indebted to me because of Isabella. You want to make sure no one ever hurts me again. But marriage... marriage should be about love, Matteo. Not debts or strategic defense against people like Vanessa Sinclair.”
Matteo leaned closer, his hand moving up to gently cradle the side of her neck, his thumb tracing her cheekbone with breathtaking tenderness.
“Eight years ago, I felt indebted to a stranger,” Matteo admitted, his voice low and raspy. “For eight years, you were a ghost I wanted to thank. But over the last four days, watching you handle suffering with dignity, watching you protect your unborn child with everything you have... I did not fall in debt, Abigail. I fell in love.”
Abigail’s breath caught sharply in her throat. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
“You... you love me?” she breathed out.
“I have never looked at another woman the way I look at you,” Matteo confessed, his eyes searching hers with complete, unreserved honesty. “I want to wake up in this house and hear your voice. I want to hold your son when he is born and teach him how to stand in this world. I want to give you a life where you never have to be afraid, tired, or alone ever again.”
Tears spilled over Abigail’s lashes, tracking down her cheeks.
For three years, she had lived in a cold, unforgiving world where men like Mark Vance used her, discarded her, and treated her as a burden. She had convinced herself that she was meant to survive alone, that love was a luxury reserved for women in silver silk dresses.
Yet sitting beside her was the most feared man in New York—a man who owned empires—looking at her as though she were the most precious creation on earth.
“And your son...” Matteo added softly, reaching down to gently lay his large palm over the round curve of her pregnant stomach. “He will bear the Romano name. He will be my eldest son, my heir, and no one in this city will ever dare call him illegitimate.”
As his palm rested against her belly, the baby gave a sudden, powerful kick directly against Matteo’s hand.
Matteo froze. His dark gray eyes widened in genuine, boyish wonder. He looked down at her stomach, then up at Abigail, a breathtaking, rare smile breaking across his hard face.
“He agrees with me,” Matteo whispered, a quiet laugh escaping his lips.
Abigail let out a breathless, joyful sob, throwing her arms around Matteo’s broad neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. The scent of cedarwood, expensive wool, and pure safety enveloped her completely.
“Yes,” she whispered into his ear, holding him tight. “Yes, Matteo... I’ll marry you.”
Matteo wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, kissing her hair, her forehead, and finally her lips in a deep, passionate kiss that sealed their fate forever.
Two weeks later.
The St. Regis Hotel master ballroom was bathed in golden light.
Unlike the cold, hostile Astoria gala, this gathering was an elite, private engagement celebration hosted by the Romano family. Three hundred of the most influential figures in the country—diplomats, Supreme Court justices, European nobility, and titan CEOs—filled the room.
At the center of the grand staircase stood Abigail.
She was eight months pregnant, radiant in an empire-waist gown of ice-blue silk, decorated with subtle pearl embroidery. Her dark hair was styled into an elegant, soft braided crown, and on her finger glittered the six-carat cushion-cut diamond ring.
Standing beside her, his arm securely wrapped around her waist, was Matteo Romano. He looked formidable, handsome, and fiercely proud in a bespoke tuxedo.
Below the staircase, standing among the guests, were Richard Sinclair and his daughter, Vanessa.
The Sinclairs had not been invited as honored guests; they had been summoned.
Richard Sinclair looked like a man who had aged ten years in two weeks. His construction firm was on the brink of bankruptcy, his board members were threatening a buyout, and his social standing was in ruins. Vanessa stood beside him in a simple, dark dress, her head bowed, completely stripped of her former arrogant sparkle.
Matteo tapped his crystal glass with a silver spoon, bringing the vast ballroom to an immediate, respectful silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Matteo’s deep, commanding voice echoed clearly across the room. “Thank you for joining my family tonight. Eight years ago, my sister Isabella’s life was saved by an act of pure, selfless grace. Today, it is my absolute honor to introduce you to my fiancée, the future matriarch of the House of Romano... Abigail Foster.”
The ballroom erupted into thunderous, standing applause.
Billionaires, politicians, and socialites who had ignored Abigail two weeks ago at the Astoria now clapped enthusiastically, their eyes filled with genuine admiration for the woman who held the heart of New York’s most powerful man.
Matteo turned to look down at Richard and Vanessa Sinclair standing near the edge of the stage.
“And to those who believed that power is measured by the ability to crush the vulnerable,” Matteo continued, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal register that made every titan in the room pay attention, “let this evening serve as a permanent reminder: Abigail Foster is under the absolute protection of my name. Anyone who disrespects her, disrespects me.”
Vanessa Sinclair swallowed hard, tears of pure humiliation brimming in her eyes as she looked up at the glowing, beautiful woman she had once slapped across the face. She realized, with absolute clarity, that Abigail had not just survived her cruelty—she had conquered her entire world.
May you like
Abigail looked out at the clapping crowd, then turned her face up to look at Matteo. He leaned down, pressing his lips gently against hers as the room cheered.
For the first time in her life, Abigail wasn't just surviving. She was home.
