How long had it been since she’d heard that name?

Too long. Violette couldn’t even remember.

But when "Twig" slipped from Roman’s lips, it sounded extraordinary. His voice was already a low, resonant instrument, but when he leaned in to whisper it right against her ear, it hit differently. For a few frantic seconds, Violette hallucinated that he had used that name back when he still loved her. A jolt of electricity surged down her spine, leaving her skin tingling and her mind dizzy.

When she finally pulled herself back to reality, she wasn’t sure if she should ask how he knew her childhood nickname or demand to know exactly how much he’d burned through for this grand New Year’s display.

Roman seemed to be hovering in a state of hesitation.

When he saw Violette fall silent, he gently took her hand in his. "Is it too much? You don't like it, do you?"

"No..."

A flicker of dejection crossed Roman’s eyes—a subtle shift so faint that if they hadn't been sitting this close, Violette would have missed it entirely. She immediately squeezed his hand back. "It’s not that. I just thought..."

"Hm?"

"It’s a bit of a waste of money," she said, blinking slowly. "Saying it was 'too much' sounds like we’re strangers. I’ll change that to 'wasteful.'"

Violette sighed. "You could have just told me that to my face and I would’ve been thrilled! Why burn through that much cash? Do you have any idea? My yearly salary wouldn't even cover the ad space for one of those buildings, and there were so many..."

"Are you happy?"

"I am happy, but—"

Whatever came after the "but" didn't matter. What mattered was that she was happy.

The historical cautionary tales of kings setting signal towers ablaze just to make a concubine smile—the stories she’d once critiqued in her youth—had been thrown to the wind. Roman figured that if his family elders knew what he was doing, they’d lecture him on how he’d flushed his integrity down the drain. At this moment, he was nothing more than a besotted fool.

He had dismissed the driver early, so he had to play the role of chauffeur. He climbed into the front seat.

Violette felt awkward sitting in the back alone, so she moved to the passenger seat beside him. Outside the windshield, those CBD skyscrapers loomed, the advertisement cycling through once more: *Twig, Happy New Year.*

Seeing it again, her face flushed hot.

Violette surreptitiously pulled out her phone and snapped a photo. It felt like a waste to leave it undocumented, but it felt equally sad to have no one to share it with. Finally, she sent it to Chloe Nichols.

Chloe: *I’ve been seeing this on my feed all night. Which billionaire is this? I’m going to go fight this rich asshole!*

Violette awkwardly hovered over the 'unsend' button.

Suddenly, a question mark popped up on the screen, followed by a flurry of messages.

Chloe: *Twig???*

Chloe: *How did I not remember that your parents called you that in grade school! Is that you, babe? No way. Am I actually stalking the main character of this drama?*

Chloe: *Wait, let me guess who has the bank account to wish our 'Twig' a happy New Year.*

Chloe: *I just Googled the ad rates for those screens. Okay, the answer is obvious now—it’s Roman Griffin, isn't it?*

Chloe: *I never expected it. Big Boss Roman always seemed like a guy with zero romantic imagination, but he’s actually pulling these kinds of stunts! I have a whole new respect for him. He’s the real deal, throwing money around like that!*

Excitement always makes people talk in circles.

Violette sent back a blushing emoji: *I only just found out, too.*

Chloe: *So he knew you were working at the Deepwater Spire tonight and wouldn't have time to check your phone at midnight. So he set it up across the street just for you? Help, he actually has some game.*

Huh.

That was a dimension of the gesture Violette hadn't fully considered.

She stole a glance at Roman. He was focused on driving, his expression unreadable, steering the car with the same steady, composed manner he applied to everything else in his life.

If she asked him about it using Chloe’s logic, what would he say?

Violette tried to imagine it. He’d probably just offer a stoic, "Hmm." If she hadn’t asked, "Why didn't you wish me a happy New Year?" he likely never would have mentioned it at all. He wasn't the type to boast about his efforts like other men, or to demand applause for his grand gestures.

He hadn’t even urged her to look at the buildings before the clock struck twelve.

Roman really was a piece of work.

Violette’s ears turned red. She looked down and replied to Chloe: *Maybe.*

Chloe: *Sigh. Rich, and he actually puts in the effort. I used to be so worried you’d get the short end of the stick in this marriage. Looks like I was overthinking it.*

Violette: *I knew you were the best!*

The chat between friends tapered off.

Later that night, Violette checked her phone again and saw that Chloe had posted a story on social media. The photo was of those exact CBD skyscrapers that had captivated all of Deepwater.

Chloe had added a mischievous emoji and written, cryptically: *If you know, you know.*

Common friends jumped into the comments to fish for details, but Chloe didn’t spill a single word. Once the fun was over, she’d zipped her lips tight.

As Violette scrolled through the post, she saw a new 'like' on the image.

She recognized the profile picture instantly: Blake Pierce.

Years ago, Blake had tried to talk to her about the nickname 'Twig.'

"It’s so cute. Why don’t you ever use that name anymore?"

"Because it’s childish," Violette had said.

"But when your uncle called you that on the phone earlier, I really thought it sounded nice," Blake had insisted, clearly baffled. "How is that childish?"

"I just don't use it anymore!" Violette had countered. "What did they call you when you were a kid?"

He’d grumbled for a long time before muttering, "...Little Treasure."

"Little Treasure?" Violette had laughed, teasing him. "Can you imagine if someone called you that now? Could you handle it?"

"That’s different!"

A twenty-year-old man being called 'Little Treasure' would indeed be enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.

Blake’s neck had turned red as he insisted it was different, though he couldn't explain how. He’d just mumbled, "Twig."

Then, his voice brightened up again: "Sister, Twig-sister~"

"..."

The memory was cut short by a noise from Roman.

He walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, offering a sheepish explanation as he passed her: "My pajamas got a bit damp. I came out to grab a new set."

His sudden appearance cut off any thoughts Violette had about asking Chloe to delete that post.

Her eyes darted over him, tracing the defined, segmented muscles of his abdomen. Roman was intensely disciplined; he spent his downtime in high-intensity training. His muscles were lean and perfectly sculpted, not overly bulky, but incredibly sharp. Especially now, with his skin still warm, it was a sight that made her pulse race.

Violette silently dubbed him her 'hunk' and thought, *Don't apologize. Please, keep getting your pajamas wet.*

With that distraction, when she looked back at the social media post, she decided she didn't care anymore.

Maybe this was for the best.

Let Blake know she was doing well. Let him see that she and Roman were happy. That certainly wasn't a bad thing.