"Pack light," Nathaniel said that morning.
Liana blinked, standing at the foot of their bed with her book still in hand. "We're going somewhere?"
He nodded, slipping his watch on. "There's a place I want you to see."
No further explanation. Just a soft command, and a faint look in his eyes that told her it mattered.
The drive took nearly two hours.
Out of the city, away from the glass towers and steel skeletons, into the greener edges of San Rafael. The roads turned quieter, the skies wider, and the air smelled like leaves and wind.
Liana looked out the window, then at Nathaniel. "You've never brought me here before."
"I've never brought anyone here," he said without looking away from the road.
The car pulled up to a quiet two-story house.
It wasn't grand. It wasn't modern. It was old—paint peeling in places, vines creeping along the sides, the gate slightly rusted. But the moment they stepped out, she understood.
"This was your childhood home," she whispered.
He nodded.
"I haven't been back in ten years," he said, his voice unusually still. "After my parents passed, I couldn't… stay."
Liana didn't say anything. She just slipped her hand into his and gave it the lightest squeeze.
Nathaniel led her inside.
It was dusty. Dim. Furniture covered in white cloths. But everything was there—family pictures still hung crooked on the walls. A cracked mug still sat by the kitchen sink. On one shelf, a tiny paper airplane.
"That was mine," he said with a small smile, almost shy. "I wanted to be a pilot once."
She turned to him in surprise. "Before the suits and boardrooms?"
He nodded. "Before everything got loud."
Liana stepped closer and touched the faded picture of a younger Nathaniel standing between two smiling parents.
"You were happy here," she whispered.
He said nothing for a while.
Then, quietly: "I think I could be happy again. Not here. But with you."
Her heart stilled.
Slowly, she turned to him.
Nathaniel wasn't a man of sweet words. He didn't know how to charm or flatter. But when he looked at her, there was sincerity so raw it filled the whole room.
"I want to build something better," he said. "Not just a company. A life. A home. With warmth. With books. With you."
Liana felt her eyes burn.
She didn't cry. But she stepped forward, placed her hand on his chest, and rested her head against him.
He held her.
Right there, in the house that raised him and the past that shaped him.
Not as CEO and teacher.
Just as Nathaniel and Liana.
That night, before they left, she scribbled something in her journal and quietly tore out the page. She left it on the old wooden table.
"This house taught you to survive.I hope our home teaches you how to live."— L.