James’ POV
New York City still overwhelms me sometimes—the constant movement, the rush of yellow taxis, the voices that never stop echoing between buildings. But somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, Amy found a way to create magic. And I found a way to follow her into it.
It’s been five years since I first watched her walk across that graduation stage in that red dress, glowing like she had lit the sun herself. Five years since I asked her to marry me under a blooming tree, barely able to get the words out because my heart was thumping so hard in my chest. She said yes. Of course she said yes.
But that wasn’t the only “yes” that changed our lives.
Since then, Amy has become one of the most powerful voices in New York’s creative scene. She’s now the creative director for one of the biggest drink brands in the city—a name that’s on billboards, playlists, and trending hashtags. I still remember the first time I saw her ad in Times Square. I just stood there, staring up at it, tears in my eyes, while strangers walked past me like I was insane.
“I know her,” I whispered to no one in particular. “I get to go home to her.”
We live in a loft apartment in Brooklyn now. It’s full of color and laughter, plants she forgets to water, and books stacked in every corner. We argue sometimes—about dinner, about schedules, about who forgot to buy toilet paper—but we always end up laughing. We love harder now. We’re louder, softer, better. Time didn’t change us. It made us more.
I didn’t go pro in football like people expected. I didn’t want that life. Instead, I started coaching. I run the football program at a high school just outside the city. The boys call me “Coach Carter,” and some of them still roll their eyes when I make them do extra laps. But every now and then, one of them stays late and says, “Thanks for believing in me.” And I think, That’s what Amy did for me once.
Tonight is about her, though.
She just completed her MBA. Top of her class. Again. And I’m not even surprised. Her company threw a celebration party in a rooftop space overlooking the river. Everyone was there—old friends, coworkers, even a few of her past interns who now call her their mentor. They made a toast, and she gave a speech, and as always, I watched her in awe. She doesn’t just walk into a room anymore. She commands it.
After the applause faded and the glasses were empty, we walked home slowly through the quiet streets, our shoes echoing against the pavement. Her heels dangled from her fingers. My blazer was slung over my shoulder. Her other hand was in mine, and even after all these years, it still felt like holding something sacred.
When we got back to the apartment, she kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the couch, looking tired in the way that only comes from doing something big and beautiful.
“You were amazing tonight,” I told her as I knelt down to help her with the ankle straps she hadn’t even touched.
“Was I?” she said, smiling with sleepy eyes.
“You always are.”
She laughed. “You’re just saying that because you’re about to ask me for something.”
I reached into the side pocket of my jacket and pulled out the small black box I had hidden there all evening. Her smile faded just a little—not because she was confused, but because she knew.
“You already proposed,” she said softly. “On graduation day.”
“I know,” I replied, opening the box to reveal a diamond ring that sparkled beneath the living room light. “But this time, I wanted to do it again—with something that shines the way you do.”
Her eyes watered. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she reached out, touching the ring with two fingers like it was fragile.
“I’d say yes again,” she whispered. “A hundred times over.”
Before I could slide the ring onto her finger, she leaned back, reaching for her purse on the coffee table. She pulled something out—a small, white stick. My brain didn’t register it at first. It looked like something medical. Then I saw the faint lines.
Two of them.
I stared at it.
Then I looked at her.
She didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I whispered.
“Nope,” she said, her eyes gleaming as she reached for my hand. “Looks like we’re having a little Red Rising of our own.”