The Price of Late Realization and Neglecting Your Loved One

Sienna's POV

“This isn’t how you write a proposal.”

With Howard’s guidance, I ended up revising the document about ten times before his frown finally softened.

“Go rest for now; we’ll just continue tomorrow.”

He stood up and headed to the bathroom. Suddenly, his phone, lying unlocked on the table, buzzed with a new message.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I peeked at it. Seeing Lance’s name on the screen, I tapped it open after hesitating for a while.

[Lance: Uncle, how’s Sienna? Is she really mad at me? Why hasn’t she tried to contact me these past few days?]

[Howard: Why should she contact you? If you don’t like her, let her go!]

[Lance: Uncle, she’s been clinging to me and refusing to let go. I’m just trying to keep her from causing a scene. Can you help me manage her at my engagement party? As long as Sienna doesn’t disrupt things, I promise to focus on work afterward!]

Lance, a spoiled man, was promising to work hard just so I wouldn’t “cause trouble”?

Scrolling further up, I saw him asking Howard for money to handle the damage his fiancée, Maia, had done to my house. But Howard hadn’t given him a cent. Instead, he had asked for my hospital address.

So, Lance knew I was injured and hospitalized, yet he hadn’t bothered to visit me—not even once.

Driven by a bitter curiosity, I opened Lance’s social media. There, I found out that during my hospital stay, he had been busy with Maia—taking her to amusement parks, riding Ferris wheels, watching sunrises, trying on wedding gowns, and even proposing to her.

But when I checked it in my account, I saw nothing but a blank page. Clearly, he had blocked me.

My heart sank as I quietly blocked Lance in return. I also marked his messages on Howard's phone as unread. Without another word, I headed upstairs to the guest room.

Saying it didn’t hurt would’ve been a lie.

Alone under the covers, tears soaked my pillow as I drifted into a fitful sleep. But even in my dreams, Lance was mocking me, pointing at me and laughing.

“Sienna! You were just a fling. Why would I marry someone like you? A bedmate? An orphan? You think you’re worthy?”

Then the scene shifted with Howard and Maia standing together, then pushed me into an abyss.

I screamed as the dream shattered with the sound of thunder.

“Don’t be scared. I’m here,” a voice soothed.

Clinging desperately to the figure before me, it took a moment for reality to settle in. I had woken from the nightmare, and a thunderstorm was raging outside.

Howard was sitting beside me, his hand gently stroking my back like you’d comfort a frightened child. The clean, woodsy scent of cedar clung to him, fresh and calming, while the warmth of his touch sent my heart racing.

Since my parents passed away, no one had ever held me like this during a thunderstorm.

Even Lance—after five years of a secret relationship—never stayed overnight. He’d always leave after we were done, offering nothing but empty words over the phone: “Sienna, I’ll keep you company… from here.”

But now, at this moment, I found myself selfishly craving Howard’s warmth. His tenderness, so different from the cold, businesslike demeanor he showed others, felt like a fragile treasure.

As my thoughts cleared, I remembered how he had burst into my room at the first clap of thunder.

How did he know I was afraid of storms?

The longer we stayed like this, the more my mind turned to mush. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Howard, would you marry me?”

Unfortunately, a loud crash of thunder drowned my voice, and his response was also muffled due to it, so I couldn’t hear it clearly. But I thought I caught the word “okay.”

When the storm calmed, he finally let go.

Just as I was debating how to ask him to stay longer, he reassured me in a soft voice, “Go to sleep. I’ll stay right here.”

He brought in a blanket and curled up on the small sofa in the corner of the room.

Seeing this six-foot-plus man squeezed into that tiny space, I felt a pang of warmth.

“It’s okay, I can manage on my own—”

But before I could refuse, he cut me off, gently saying, “Goodnight,”

Listening to his even, steady breathing, I fell asleep. For the first time in five years, I felt truly at peace on a stormy night.