Page 56 of My Only

Still, every time Hassani noticed I’d gone quiet for too long, he’d slide his fingers down my hand to interlock with mine, or wrap an arm around my waist, pulling me into the moment. It was those small gestures that mattered.

I was so damn proud of him, I could barely breathe evenly.

He had wanted this for so long. Since we were teenagers, he’d dreamed of being an architect. He had worked his ass off to get here, and now? He was doing it—doing it in a big way.

And yet…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, I was standing outside of it all.

Clink, clink, clink.

The sound of glass chiming rang through the gallery, drawing everyone’s attention to the steps leading up to one of the Egyptian structures. Heels clicked against the stone floor as the crowd shifted toward the source, and before I could react, Hassani had already taken my hand, guiding me forward.

“Welcome, welcome,” a deep voice boomed, effortlessly commanding the room. “I’m grateful I didn’t insist on having a microphone—my voice is carrying just fine, isn’t it?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

When we got close enough to see who was speaking, I inhaled sharply, my breath catching.

It was Bryant Greene.

The Bryant Greene.

A man I’d only ever heard about by name, whose face I’d seen on magazine covers. And now? He was standing just feet in front of me.

And my husband was working for him.

Bryant’s suit was perfectly tailored, fitting him like it had been painted onto his body. In one hand, he held a sparkling glass of champagne, exuding effortless confidence. His beard was immaculate, his skin flawless, and his posture imposing. The same stacked, powerful build as my husband.

The hype around the multi-billionaire was definitely justified. Respectfully.

“Tonight,” Bryant began, his smooth baritone settling over the room, “we are not just celebrating the beginning of a project.” He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered crowd. “We are celebrating the beginning of a legacy.”

A murmur of agreement cascaded through the space.

“Greene Gardens is not just about infrastructure,” he continued. “It’s about culture. It’s about creating something that will outlive us. Something our children and grandchildren… and their grandchildren will look at and feel proud of.”

The room erupted into light applause.

“That is why I chose The Met as our venue tonight.” He smiled, flashing a perfect set of white teeth. “This museum is filled with masterpieces that have stood the test of time. That is what we are building with Greene Gardens.” He raised his glass. “And every single one of you in this room… you are the artists, the visionaries, the creators. This isn’t just work—this is history in the making. Here’s to you.”

The room erupted in applause again, even livelier this time.

Hassani clapped so hard, his smile so wide, that I could feel him soaking in the weight of Bryant’s words. And I felt it too—an energy humming in the air, charging everyone in the room, making me feel honored to witness it.

I had always known that Hassani’s role as principal architect was huge, but tonight, I realized it was monumental. And with that realization came a weight I couldn’t quite put into words.

“Whoa,” I breathed, turning to him once the applause died down. “This is beyond incredible, baby.”

“I know, right?” He let out a deep breath, puffing his cheeks as he exhaled. “My heart is pounding mad hard right now.”

I pressed my hand to his chest and felt it—his heartbeat racing beneath my palm. I traced slow circles against his shirt, then lifted my hands to his face, cupping either side as I stared into his eyes.

“I am so proud of you,” I told him, my voice thick with emotion. “You’ve worked so hard for this. You deserve this. All of it. And you’re about to kill it. I can feel it in my bones.”

Hassani inhaled another deep breath, nodding along with me.

“Hassani.”

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