Paint, sweat, and intertwined breaths. This was Chloe's daily life in Tuscany.

On the floor of the studio, a huge canvas lay carelessly tossed aside, covered with mottled oil paints and spilled red wine.


Julian pressed Chloe against the messy canvas. Her oversized white shirt had been half torn open, the fallen buttons scattered around them like abandoned chess pieces.

His kiss was no longer exploratory, but devouring. With punishing force, he traced down her slender neck, leaving savage, deep red marks on her collarbone. His hands, like heated iron, firmly gripped her waist so slender it could be encircled by his fingers, imprinting possessive marks on her soft skin.

Their bodies, like two wild beasts, frantically entangled, collided, and tore at each other in this territory soaked in art and desire.


"Is this… what you wanted?" Chloe tilted her head back during his nibbling, breathing heavily, moaning near his ear in an almost provocative tone.

Julian silenced all her words with an even deeper kiss that seemed to devour her very soul.


"Not enough." Next to her ear, with a hoarse voice drenched in desire, he ground out, "Never… enough."

One moment, they were on the floor of the studio, like two intertwined flames. The next moment, they were in the vast swimming pool that gleamed coldly in the deep night.

The icy pool water met their burning skin, stirring up waves of white mist. He pressed her firmly against the cold pool wall from behind, taking her in the most primal, irresistible manner. Water splashed everywhere, mingling with her broken cries shattered by his thrusts.

Or perhaps, it was in the vineyard at dawn.

The grape vines with dewdrops coiled around her ankles. He lifted her onto ground covered with thick fallen leaves, carrying the scent of primordial soil. He parted her dew-dampened, slightly trembling legs, and once again, with domineering force, proved his existence to her and his absolute possession of her.

They possessed each other and redeemed each other in the most primitive way.

Julian, with his suppressed, almost obsessive strength of five years, filled the emptiness of her past hollowed out by betrayal and lies; while Chloe, with her uninhibited reciprocation and surrender, tamed the fierce beast within him that was born out of love.

This fiery, intense tranquility was broken when Julian received a phone call from New York.

On the phone, his assistant told him that Mr. Carter had largely recovered and was preparing to be discharged from the hospital to recuperate at home.

Julian hung up the phone, and the satisfied, languid expression instantly faded from his face as he transformed back into the calm, profound business tycoon. He knew it was time. Time to wake up from this beautiful dream, to go back and face the mess he had created, to confront the friend he had betrayed and the father he had hurt.

He would go back alone; this was his requirement.

"This is what I owe him, Chloe," he told her. "You being caught in the middle would make it harder for him. Trust me, I'll handle it."

New York, the Carter family mansion on Long Island.

Julian, all by himself, carrying a heavy briefcase, walked into the study that was once so familiar to him but now felt unbearably oppressive.

Mr. Carter was sitting on the sofa. He had lost a lot of weight, his face still bearing a sickly pallor, but those once gentle eyes were now sharp as an eagle's, scrutinizing this former trusted friend who had now become an "enemy" with designs on his daughter.

"You dare to come see me." Mr. Carter's voice was ice-cold and devoid of any emotion.

Julian made no excuses for himself. He walked up to Mr. Carter, placed his briefcase on the ground, and then deeply and solemnly bowed to him.

"Alan," for the first time, he did not use an honorific but called him directly by his first name, as if facing an equal friend whom he had hurt, "I'm sorry."

"Regarding the marriage of Chloe and Daniel, I've committed an unforgivable mistake. Out of selfishness and cowardice, I chose what I thought was a 'safe' path for her, yet with my own hands, I pushed her into hell. You fell ill because of this, the entire family was disgraced because of this, and for all of it, the responsibility is mine. I have no excuses."

His words, which didn't avoid or shift blame but instead took all the guilt upon himself, caused the cold anger in Mr. Carter's eyes to soften slightly, but in its place came a deeper questioning, one that belonged to a father.

"So what now? Julian," he sneered, "you ruined my daughter once, and now you want to ruin her a second time? You think you understand her better than I do? You think that with your little underground obsession, hidden in some basement, you can give her happiness?"

Faced with this humiliating interrogation, Julian did not get angry.

He simply crouched down, opened the briefcase, and took out a thick document.

That wasn't a business contract, but an irrevocable trust fund agreement and share transfer document that had been repeatedly revised by top legal teams and already notarized.

He placed the documents on the coffee table in front of Mr. Carter.

"Alan, you're right, words are inadequate. I cannot prove to you how much I love her, nor can I make up for past hurts." He pointed at the document, his voice calm yet carrying a force capable of moving mountains.

"Here is 20% of the shares of Blake Group under my name. I've transferred all of it into a completely independent trust fund established in Chloe's name. This fund, legally speaking, belongs to her alone. She has absolute decision-making power, right to income, and disposal rights."

Mr. Carter's pupils suddenly contracted. He knew what this 20% stake meant. It was almost half of Julian's wealth, an astronomical figure capable of influencing the entire Wall Street.

"The agreement stipulates," Julian continued, as if stating a cold fact, "that regardless of how our relationship may change in the future—whether we get married, break up, or even become enemies—this equity transfer will remain permanently effective and irrevocable."

He raised his head, meeting Mr. Carter's shocked gaze, and said emphatically:

"Alan, I've handed her the sharpest knife that could hurt me. I've placed half of my assets on her scale. This is not a bride price, nor is it compensation."

"I just want to tell you one thing through this gesture—from now on, there will never be 'inequality' between us. I'm not 'keeping' her; I am asking her to allow me to become a partner in her future life. At any time, she has the ability and confidence to flip the table and make me pay a heavy price."

The study fell into dead silence.

In this suffocating standoff, the door to the study was gently pushed open.

Chloe walked in. She was wearing a simple beige dress, with no makeup on her face, yet she looked more radiant than ever before. She had clearly heard everything that had just been said.

She didn't look at Julian, but instead walked straight to her father's side, sat down, and gently held his wrinkled hand.

"Dad," her voice was gentle yet firm, "this matter has nothing to do with equity shares, nor with the mistakes he made."

She turned her head to look at the man who was willing to give up half his empire for her, her eyes filled with unprecedented love and tenderness that could melt all ice and snow.

"The reason I choose him is not because of what he can give me, but because only by his side," she turned back to look at her father, her face radiating a kind of happiness that couldn't be faked, coming from deep within her heart, "I finally became myself again."

"In Tuscany, I started painting again, Dad. I no longer paint those empty landscapes. I paint storms, ruins, and flowers that bloom anew in desperate situations. He didn't teach me how to paint, he just… stayed by my side. It was he who made me realize that all my pain and brokenness could also become strength."

The daughter's genuine happiness, and those eyes that could no longer pretend, shining with light, were the final and most powerful blow to convince a father.

Mr. Carter remained silent for a long, long time.

He looked at his daughter before him, radiant and seemingly reborn, then at the man sitting opposite, tense like a criminal awaiting sentencing, yet willing to risk everything for this chance.

In the end, all his anger, reluctance, and worry dissolved into a tired sigh that also carried a sense of acceptance.

He didn't say "I agree," nor did he say "I bless you both."

He just looked at Julian, speaking slowly in a tone as if nothing had ever happened, a tone between old friends, a casual everyday tone:

"Stay and have dinner with us."

These words were the highest level of acceptance.

Julian's tense body finally, in this moment, slowly relaxed. He looked at Chloe, and Chloe was also looking at him.

The two exchanged smiles across the distance of a father.

All the storms, at this moment, had finally passed.