Chapter 10
906words
Harvard's campus greeted them unchanged—red brick walls bathed in golden afternoon light.
This time, there was no Alex leaning against a Bentley with that patronizing smile.
They strolled beneath the sycamores, perfectly in step, their shadows merging on the path.
"How's the thesis coming?"
Alex's voice held nothing but genuine interest—no hint of judgment.
"Defense is next week."
Emma's voice carried easy confidence.
"Nervous, sure, but mostly excited."
She no longer needed him to calm her nerves with a perfectly timed latte.
Outside the art history library, they ran into Ben.
Ben's eyes dropped to their intertwined fingers—surprise flashed across his face before settling into a genuine smile.
"Emma! Been ages. Heard you were turning heads at Oxford."
"Alex."
Ben nodded to Alex.
Alex returned the gesture, calm and cordial.
He made no possessive moves.
His hand remained steady in Emma's—present but not possessive.
Even in peaceful times, trouble finds a way.
At a café near campus, Emma sorted through her defense materials.
Two uninvited guests appeared at her table.
Victoria—still sharp as a blade—with painter Sophia beside her.
"What a coincidence, Emma."
Victoria's crimson lips curved into a calculated smile.
Sophia crossed her arms, studying Emma with the condescending pity of someone who thinks they know better.
"Seems our 'patron saint' can't quite let you go."
Victoria kept her voice low enough for deniability but loud enough to draw stares from nearby tables.
Emma looked up unhurriedly.
Neither anger nor embarrassment crossed her face.
Her steady gaze swept past Victoria to settle on Sophia.
"Sophia, congratulations on your new exhibition."
Her voice rang clear and composed.
"Your piece 'Rebirth'—the interplay of light and shadow was masterful. I was particularly moved by it."
The mockery on Sophia's face faltered.
Emma sidestepped their bait entirely, drawing them into her territory—the scholarly realm of art criticism.
In this arena, Emma reigned supreme, making their provocations seem childish by comparison.
"You—"
Victoria sputtered.
Emma had already returned to her notes, her tone dismissive.
"Sorry, my time is valuable."
"My career doesn't rely on dredging up the past for attention."
One sentence—surgical, elegant, and devastating.
The color drained from Victoria's face.
From across the café, Alex watched quietly.
He'd seen everything but hadn't intervened.
He simply watched Emma, undisguised pride shining in his eyes.
He knew she no longer needed a white knight—she'd become her own champion.
She was her own fortress now.
On defense day, Emma stood before the podium facing titans of art history.
In a simple white dress with her hair pulled back, she radiated the quiet confidence that comes only from mastery.
She spoke with authority about Florentine patronage systems and Medici power dynamics.
Her perspectives broke new ground, her arguments unassailable.
When the final professor lobbed a particularly thorny question, she smiled and delivered an answer that left the room in stunned silence.
"I am pleased to announce that Emma Wilson's dissertation has been unanimously approved with highest distinction."
Her advisor's voice swelled with pride.
The room erupted in applause.
Emma bowed deeply.
She had done it.
Through sheer brilliance and determination, she'd claimed the highest academic honor.
Alex sat in the back row, just another face in the crowd.
He watched her command the stage, the sparkle in her eyes filling his heart with something too profound for words.
Graduation day arrived with perfect sunshine.
Emma stood radiant in her doctoral regalia, beaming among her peers.
As the ceremony ended and goodbyes were exchanged, Alex wove through the crowd toward her.
He'd dressed with particular care—a navy suit that emphasized his height and breadth.
His expression carried unusual gravity, with an undercurrent of nervousness he couldn't quite hide.
He dropped to one knee before her.
The crowd around them fell silent.
All eyes turned their way.
He opened a velvet box revealing a diamond ring—elegantly simple yet breathtakingly brilliant.
"Emma Wilson."
His voice trembled slightly but carried clearly.
"You taught me what love truly means. I love your independence, your strength, everything that makes you who you are. Will you spend your life with me?"
Tears sprang to Emma's eyes.
Not tears of weakness—tears of joy and completion.
She looked at this man who had transformed himself not just for her but with her, and nodded firmly.
"Alex Romano."
Her voice caught but remained resolute.
"I'll marry you—not because I need you, but because I choose you."
Many years later.
A story circulated around Harvard's campus.
About the unlikely romance between a business mogul and a brilliant scholar.
One autumn afternoon, a couple strolled hand-in-hand along a path carpeted with golden leaves.
The man was still handsome, though his sharp edges had softened with time.
The woman remained brilliant and elegant, her eyes carrying the quiet confidence of years well-lived.
They overheard two students bickering nearby.
"Totally a bought degree. What won't rich people pay for?"
"Are you insane? That's Dr. Emma Wilson! She literally wrote our textbooks on Renaissance studies. She's never needed anyone's help!"
Alex Romano paused, glancing at his wife with eyes full of quiet joy.
Dr. Emma Wilson caught his gaze and smiled softly.
He squeezed her hand.
His wedding vows echoed in his mind.
I promise to love your independence, support your dreams, and respect your choices.
He had kept that promise.
She wasn't his collection—she was his partner, the one relationship he treasured above all others.
A true equal who stood beside him.
