Ch. I Proposed To Him, The Comments Told Me His Heart Belonged To Her 9 I Proposed To Him, The Comments Told Me His Heart Belonged To Her 9

Chapter 9 

90006 

chasing for years. 

When Grant found out, he sent me a report. Ten pages. 

A full breakdown of both options: pros, cons, projections. 

On the last page, he’d circled the fellowship. 

I called him the second I finished reading. 

“You want me to leave again?” 

Two seconds of silence. Then he answered: 

“No.” 

“Then why are you telling me to go?” 

“Because it’s the right move for you.” 

I went quiet. 

He didn’t push. 

After a while, his voice came through, low and steady. 

“I used to spend all my time figuring out how to keep you.” 

“Now I just want you to go wherever makes you happy.” 

I took the project. 

Two more years abroad. 

Grant didn’t stop me. 

He just quietly looked up flight schedules. And then he showed up, every single month. 

It was annoying. 

“Don’t you have a company to run?” 

“I do.” 

Chantery 

Cha 

Two years later, I came home for good. 

After my brand’s launch event, a staff member led me down a hallway with a knowing smile and stopped at 

a conference room. 

I pushed the door open. Grant. 

A dark blue velvet box sat on the table in front of him. 

I took half a step back. 

“What is this?” 

His jaw tightened. 

“Are you scared of boxes now?” 

“I’m mainly scared you’ll use it to test me again.” 

He deserved that one, and he knew it. 

“I won’t. Ever.” 

I walked over and opened it. 

A watch. 

Almost identical to the one I’d had destroyed years ago. 

My hands were shaking when I turned it over. 

The old one had read: 

Property of Sienna Whitmore. Forever. 

This one was different. 

Sienna Whitmore belongs only to herself. 

And underneath, in smaller letters: 

Grant Prescott requests permission to stay by her side indefinitely. 

I stared at it until the smile I was fighting won. 

He was so annoying. 

And he was getting terrifyingly good at this. 

100.00% 

Two years.” 

I looked up. “And?” 

ant looked calm. His fingers tapping against the wood gave him away. 

“Am I off probation yet?” 

I let the silence stretch. 

His tapping got faster. 

Grant, nervous. God, that was satisfying. 

Nineteen years to get here. 

Finally, it was his turn. 

I placed the watch back in the box. 

His face fell. 

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. Then I leaned forward, using the exact same tone I’d used the day I kicked open his office door years ago. 

“Grant.” 

He looked up. 

“I’m giving you one more chance to earn me.” 

His eyes lit up. 

I held up a finger before he could move. 

“Trial period. Boyfriend status. Strictly probationary.” 

He paused. “How long?” 

“Depends on your performance.” 

“Can I get promoted?” 

“Why do you have so many questions?” 

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. 

Grant followed. At the door, his hand moved toward mine out of habit, then hovered, not quite touching. 

“Can I hold your hand?” 

100.00% 

1 loc 

fid his hand 

The old Grant would never have asked. 

He would’ve just taken it and told me my fingers were freezing. 

My eyes burned. 

I slid my hand into his. 

“Permission granted.” 

He held on like he’d never let go. 

The city lights were blinding when we stepped outside. 

I thought about the day it all started. The day I found out I was adopted. 

My first instinct had been to find a man and lock it down before the biological daughter showed up. 

I was convinced I’d be nothing without the Whitmore name. 

The comments told me I’d cling to Grant, throw away my future, sabotage Blaire, and turn myself into a cautionary tale. 

I’d been terrified. 

So I fought every instinct: don’t fight, don’t beg, don’t hold on. 

I couldn’t become the girl they described. 

But I finally understood something. 

What saved me had nothing to do with letting go of Grant. 

It was that night, alone in my room, staring at my laptop, when I clicked “Confirm.” 

That was the first time I chose myself when everyone wanted me to stay. 

I kept choosing myself after that. Every single time. 

Grant squeezed my hand. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I blinked and looked at him with a deadpan expression. 

“Just thinking about what terrible taste I had.” 

His face went flat. 

Chamer 10 

1jon meteen years’ 

He didn’t have a comeback for that. 

“So much wasted time.” 

He stopped walking. “Do you regret it?” 

I thought about it. Really thought. 

“No.” 

Those nineteen years were real. 

What I felt now was real too. 

I didn’t have to pretend the old Sienna was stupid just to prove the current one was smart. 

Loving someone was never the mistake. 

Losing yourself in it-that would’ve been the real tragedy. 

Grant studied my face for a long time. Then he laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“Probably.” 

I rolled my eyes. 

I kicked his shin. 

He didn’t let go of my hand. 

And then, after two years of silence, the comments flickered back to life. 

Just a handful. 

[???] 

[This isn’t how the original story ends.] 

[Why didn’t the adopted daughter end up in a psych ward?] 

{The biological daughter didn’t marry the male lead either?]