“And now,” Cynthia announced, her voice booming, “we welcome the man who made this all possible. Please welcome William Croft!”
William stood up. But instead of walking to the guest chair Cynthia had indicated, he walked directly to the center of the stage. He took the microphone from a stunned Cynthia and turned his back on her, facing the audience and Sophie.
“For a year, I have lived in winter,” William said, his voice echoing through the silent studio. “I thought my life ended when the snow fell. I thought love was a ghost.”
He looked down at Sophie in the front row. “But then, someone turned on the lights.”
William stepped off the stage, walking toward her. The cameras followed him, zooming in. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box. He dropped to one knee.
The audience gasped, then erupted into a frenzy.
“Sophie Laurent,” William said, ignoring the chaos. “You saved me. You saved my son. Will you marry me?”
Sophie looked at him. The fear of the dossier, of Beatrice, of the debt–it all vanished under the intensity of his gaze. He wasn’t the “Ice King” anymore. He was just a man asking to be loved.
“Yes,” she choked out, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, William.”
He slid the ring onto her finger, and the studio exploded in cheers, drowning out Cynthia’s fury.