Oliver...
Oliver Moreland.
Amelia Clarke's cheeks flushed, her gaze at Owen Moreland flickering with starlit brilliance. Her heartbeat quickened slightly, "Owen, you..."
The atmosphere, stirred by the words "Oliver," became ambiguous and entangled.
"Are you confessing your love to me?"
Owen Moreland lowered his head and stared into his wife's eyes, as clear and serene as water. The joy and yearning within them softened his heart.
He reached out to pull her into his arms, gently raised his hand to touch her cheek, and Amelia instinctively closed her eyes.
The scent on him captivated her.
Her slender arms wrapped around Owen Moreland's neck, while the notebook inscribed with three names somehow fell to the floor beside their feet. Shadows spilled across the ground from the coffee table, enveloping Henry and Alan in darkness, whereas Oliver shimmered faintly under the light.
Amelia knelt before the sofa, a cushion beneath her knees, her head bowed in assistance to Owen.