chapter 135

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Chapter 135 – Damon's POV

It had been a year.

A year since Arya gave birth to their daughter, Hope. A year since their lives were turned inside out, then stitched back together with sleepless nights, diaper changes, and sweet giggles that made it all worth it. Damon loved every moment of fatherhood, even the chaos — but tonight wasn't about being a dad.

Tonight was about being her man.

And, if all went well, her fiancé.

Damon gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, glancing at Arya beside him. She looked effortlessly beautiful in a flowing wine-red dress that hugged her curves. Her makeup was soft, her hair down in waves, and her lips painted in the faint shade of rose he always liked.

"Are you sure we're not going somewhere too fancy?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing his black suit.

"Nope," Damon smirked. "You look stunning, and that's all that matters."

Arya raised a brow. "Damon Blackwood, you're up to something."

"Who, me?" he teased, feigning innocence.

She narrowed her eyes playfully, but didn't press. Instead, she leaned back in her seat and stared out the window, unaware that just a few miles ahead, everything was about to change.

He had planned every detail down to the second. It wasn't just a date — it was a declaration. A promise. A long-overdue step in their journey.

They arrived at the private rooftop restaurant just as the sun began to set, casting golden light across the skyline. A waiter greeted them, leading them through a quiet passage and up to the reserved space — decorated with string lights, petals, and soft music floating from a violinist stationed discreetly to the side.

Arya stopped in her tracks, her lips parting in surprise. "Damon… what is all this?"

He offered her his hand. "Dinner. Just us. No baby monitor. No dishes. No interruptions."

Her fingers slid into his, warm and familiar. "You did all this?"

"Every bit of it."

The candlelit table was positioned at the center of the rooftop, surrounded by lanterns and a soft breeze that played with the curls near her face. Damon pulled her chair out for her like a gentleman — something that earned him a teasing smirk — and then took his seat across from her.

The food came in delicate portions — her favorites, of course — and they talked like they hadn't in months. About Liam's latest school drawings, Hope's stubborn refusal to nap, and Damon's ongoing battle to convince the baby to say "Dada" before "Mama."

But as dessert arrived, Damon's heartbeat picked up.

This was it.

She was laughing at something — he didn't even remember what — when he stood up and came around to her side of the table. Arya looked up at him, puzzled.

"Damon?"

He didn't speak right away. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the small velvet box that had been burning a hole there all evening.

Arya froze.

"I wanted tonight to be special," Damon began, dropping to one knee in front of her. "Not because it's a holiday or an anniversary. But because sometimes, the ordinary days are the most important."

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide and watery.

"I almost lost you once, Arya," he continued, voice low and sure. "To my pride. My fear. My stupidity. And every day since you gave me another chance, I've been silently thanking the stars that you stayed."

She shook her head slightly, already tearing up.

"You've given me more than I ever deserved. A son who calls me Dad. A daughter who smiles just like you. And a home that feels like something I never thought I'd have."

Damon opened the box, revealing a delicate ring — rose gold with a subtle twist of diamonds wrapping around a single, shimmering stone in the center. Elegant. Just like her.

"Arya Monroe… will you marry me? Officially this time. Not because we had to. But because I want to wake up every day as your husband. By choice. By love."

Arya stared at him, lips trembling. "You… you planned this whole thing?"

He chuckled. "Took me weeks to get it right."

She dropped to her knees in front of him, not caring about the dress or the petals or the people watching from afar. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face into his shoulder.

"You idiot," she whispered tearfully.

"That a yes?"

She pulled back just enough to kiss him — slow, deep, full of everything words couldn't say.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Damon Blackwood. I'll marry you."

Cheers erupted from the waiters nearby, the violinist transitioned into a sweet romantic tune, and fireworks suddenly lit the sky in the distance — timed by Ethan, of course. Damon held Arya tightly, smiling like a man who had finally come home.

As they rose to their feet, she held out her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger with reverence.

"It's perfect," she whispered.

"You're perfect."

Arya glanced down at the ring again, then back at him. "You realize this means I get to plan the wedding, right?"

Damon smirked. "I already knew that."

She laughed, and he kissed her once more, under a sky filled with stars and celebration.

This wasn't just a proposal.

It was a second chance.

And this time, Damon wasn't letting go.