Chapter 9
1063words
Emma's inbox pinged with a new message.
She'd won the college's prestigious annual thesis award.
Reading the notification, a genuine smile lit up her face.
This victory was entirely hers—no strings attached, no debts owed.
Her phone buzzed once.
A news link from an unknown number.
"Romano Group Launches Independent Foundation for Young Artists: 'We Only Build the Stage, Artists Are the True Stars,' Says Founder Alex Romano"
Emma stared at the headline, frozen in place.
She tapped the link to see Alex's photo.
He stood at a podium, his expression calm and genuine.
Gone was the sharp, controlling business tycoon.
Emma switched off her phone and gazed out the window.
The rain had stopped.
A rainbow arched over the ancient spires.
In Oxford's Bodleian Library, the very air smelled of centuries-old parchment.
Outside, autumn rain tapped steadily against Gothic spires.
Emma focused intently on comparing two manuscripts about Titian's patrons.
The library's hush brought her peace.
She wasn't the girl who needed saving anymore; she was a scholar who had earned her place through merit alone.
A figure paused at the bookshelf opposite her table.
Without looking her way, he pulled out a heavy tome on Florentine banking dynasties.
That familiar profile—sharp as a blade—sliced through her carefully constructed tranquility.
Alex.
He wore a charcoal turtleneck under a simple black coat.
The businessman's edge had softened into something more contemplative.
He looked thinner, his jawline more pronounced than she remembered.
Emma's heart stuttered before cold wariness took over.
What was he doing here?
As if sensing her gaze, Alex slowly turned.
Their eyes locked.
His eyes no longer held that predatory certainty—instead, they carried the cautious uncertainty of someone who'd learned from painful mistakes.
Emma quickly looked down, forcing her attention back to her manuscript.
But the 14th-century Italian script blurred before her eyes, mocking her attempts at composure.
Time crawled between the bookshelves.
After what felt like hours, she took a deep breath, methodically packed her satchel, and stood to leave.
He remained there, an anachronistic sculpture beside the ancient bookshelf.
As she passed, stirring the air between them, he finally spoke.
"Emma."
His voice came low and rough, as though long unused.
She froze mid-step, spine rigid, refusing to turn.
"I'm not here to disturb you."
He added quickly.
"I just… needed to research something."
His explanation was so transparent she nearly laughed aloud.
The CEO of Romano Group personally flying to Oxford for library research? Was brooding scholar his new persona?
She turned slowly, her smile polite but glacial.
"Mr. Romano, Oxford welcomes all who pursue knowledge."
The formal address pierced him like a needle.
Unmistakable pain flashed across his eyes.
"Can we talk?" He stepped forward cautiously. "Outside. Just five minutes."
The rain had stopped.
They walked the wet cobblestone path, maintaining a careful distance between them. Cool air carried the scent of damp earth and rain.
"I expanded the foundation," Alex broke the silence, "but not because of you."
He seemed to anticipate her thoughts.
"I know you wouldn't accept help from me. My therapist suggested channeling my… controlling tendencies into something genuinely helpful."
Emma's stride faltered slightly.
Therapist.
The word sounded so foreign coming from the imperious Alex Romano that it bordered on absurd.
Just then, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
A message from Oliver with a news link attached.
"Romance Rumors: Billionaire Alex Romano Spotted with Young Pianist"
The photo left little doubt.
Alex held the restaurant door for a young woman, his manner impeccably gentlemanly. The way she gazed up at him was painfully familiar to Emma.
That look—a cocktail of admiration, dependence, and the fragile infatuation that follows rescue.
A mirror reflecting the past she'd fought to escape.
Whatever softening had begun in her heart instantly hardened again.
The old pattern was repeating itself.
She pocketed her phone, her expression turning glacial.
"Mr. Romano, your private life is none of my business."
Her lips twisted with undisguised mockery.
"I wish you and your new 'acquisition' all the best."
She turned to leave, unwilling to spend another second in his presence.
"It's not what you think!"
Urgency cracked through Alex's voice as he lurched forward, arm half-raised before he forced himself to stop.
He pulled a neatly folded document from his coat and thrust it toward her.
An official funding letter on gold-embossed Romano Foundation letterhead.
The recipient line clearly read: Lily Zhang.
Attached were transparent details of the funding process, judge roster, and three rounds of review comments.
"I was there as the foundation's representative, meeting finalists selected by independent judges. It's standard procedure."
He spoke rapidly but with crystal clarity, his tone unmistakably honest.
"I don't have her personal contact information. My assistant was present the entire time."
He met her eyes, emphasizing each word.
"Emma, I've been working to change."
"For you. And for myself."
Emma studied him intently, seeing raw sincerity in his eyes and, beneath it, unmistakable fear.
He was terrified.
Afraid she wouldn't believe him. Afraid she'd walk away again.
This man who once commanded empires with a phone call now stood before her with awkward vulnerability written across his face.
She remained silent for a long moment.
Long enough for hope to begin fading from his eyes.
"Alex."
She finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"If someday I become completely independent, utterly self-sufficient, needing nothing from anyone…"
She paused, her throat constricting.
"When that day comes, will you still love me?"
This question was her final test—the ultimate judgment.
At her question, Alex's face transformed with a smile.
A smile stripped of all pretense—genuine and almost boyish.
"Emma," his gaze gentle yet steady as rain-washed sky, "my greatest wish is for you to never need my help again."
"I hope you'll always be exactly as you are now—independent, brilliant, and completely whole."
He looked at her, his eyes brighter than she'd ever seen them.
"That version of you is the one I love most—the only you I want."
Emma's eyes filled instantly.
This was the answer she'd been waiting for.
She stepped forward and reached for his cold hand.
"I choose you, Alex."
Her voice rang clear and strong.
"Not because I need you. Because I love you."
As their fingers intertwined, the world around them seemed to hold its breath.
Oxford after rain smelled of possibility—fresh and clear as crystal.
