The day felt ordinary at first.
Jay woke up, stretched, and made her usual cup of tea.
I watched her from the bedroom doorway, like I always did—quietly, respectfully, with the kind of love that doesn't need to prove itself.
We had already survived the storm.
Now it was time for the world to know what had always been true.
I had scheduled a meeting that afternoon—something that sounded like business but was really the next step in the life we were building.
Jay didn't know.
She had no idea what I was planning.
She trusted me.
Which made it even more important that I did this the right way.
We arrived at the company headquarters.
People greeted me, shook hands, smiled, nodded.
Everyone knew I was powerful.
Everyone knew I was ruthless when I needed to be.
But today, I didn't want to be ruthless.
I wanted to be real.
Jay walked beside me, calm, composed, beautiful in her simplicity.
She was wearing a plain white blouse and black trousers. No jewelry. No drama. Just her.
And that was exactly how I wanted her to be seen.
When we entered the boardroom, the room fell silent.
Not because they were afraid.
Because they were curious.
I had called this meeting under the pretense of "business restructuring."
But I wasn't restructuring business.
I was restructuring my life.
I stood at the head of the table and looked at every person there.
My board. My partners. My employees.
They all looked at me like they were waiting for the next move.
I didn't waste time.
"Jay," I said, voice calm.
She looked at me, confused.
"Sit," I told her gently.
She obeyed.
Then I turned back to the room.
"I want to make one thing clear," I said. "This is not a business decision. It's personal."
A hush fell.
I looked at Jay again.
"I have made a promise," I said. "And I intend to keep it."
The room shifted, sensing the seriousness.
I continued.
"Jay is not just my assistant."
I paused, letting the words land.
"She is the person I want by my side for the rest of my life."
A few people blinked.
Some smiled.
Jay's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't move.
I looked at her again, feeling the emotion rise.
"I'm not asking for permission," I said. "I'm announcing something that is already decided."
I saw Jay's lips part slightly.
I knew she was trying not to cry.
"I want everyone here to understand," I continued, "that from today forward, Jay is not just part of my life. She is part of my family."
I watched the reactions.
Some nodded, some looked shocked, but none of them spoke.
Because they knew this wasn't a moment to interrupt.
I took a breath.
"Jay and I will be moving forward together," I said. "Not just in business, but in life."
Then I turned to her.
My voice softened.
"Jay," I said, "I'm not asking you to marry me."
Her eyes widened, heart beating fast.
I smiled, and she realized what I was doing.
"I'm telling you that I already have."
Jay's breath caught.
Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn't look away.
"I don't need a ceremony," I continued. "I don't need an announcement. I don't need permission from anyone."
I leaned closer, my voice quiet enough only for her.
"I just want you to know that I'm yours. And I'm staying."
Jay's eyes filled.
Not with fear.
With peace.
Then, with a smile so soft it made my heart ache, she whispered:
"Okay."
The boardroom erupted into quiet applause—not loud, not dramatic, just respectful.
People clapped, some smiled, and even the ones who once doubted her now looked at her differently.
Because they could see what I saw:
She wasn't just an assistant.
She was the woman who had made me want a life I never thought I deserved.
And I wasn't going to let anyone take her away again
The day after the public announcement, the world felt calmer.
No threats.
No pressure.
No drama.
Just a life that finally belonged to us.
Jay woke up early, as she always did, and came to the bedroom where I was still half asleep.
She climbed into bed and wrapped her arms around me like she was holding on to something she didn't want to lose.
"Good morning," she whispered.
"Morning," I replied.
She kissed my neck softly, then pulled away.
"You're not mad at me for making that public?" she asked.
I smiled.
"I'm proud of you."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because you didn't hide," I said. "You didn't let the world decide who you are."
Jay's eyes softened.
She rested her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat.
We stayed like that for a while.
Just breathing.
Just being.
Later, we went to the kitchen.
Jay made tea. I made breakfast.
It was a simple routine, but it felt sacred.
She looked at me and said, "I used to think I was lucky to have you."
I paused.
Then I replied honestly, "You weren't lucky."
Jay frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you didn't need luck," I said. "You needed someone who would choose you."
Jay smiled, a little sad and a little happy.
"I chose you too," she whispered.
I watched her pour the tea, and I realized how much I loved this ordinary life.
Not because it was simple.
Because it was real.
That night, Jay sat on the couch, book in her hand, but she wasn't reading.
I sat beside her and ran my hand gently through her hair.
She sighed.
"I never thought I'd be this happy," she admitted.
I smiled. "You deserve it."
She looked up at me. "How do you know?"
"Because you're still here," I said. "You stayed."
Jay's eyes glistened. "I stayed because you didn't make me afraid."
I kissed her forehead.
"Good," I murmured.
She leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder.
We didn't need to say anything else.
The quiet spoke for us.