Miranda had known Jackson for years and understood his temperament all too well. There was no way she was going to avoid this conversation today. So, she stayed silent, conceding the inevitable. Jackson’s frustration was boiling over. "Three years ago, you were in surgery, pregnant and unconscious. The doctors needed a signature, and I signed for you. I told myself that once you woke up, I’d make sure you married me. Vincent didn’t ask, did he? He never asked about you in these three years. You know that, don’t you? While you were recovering, he inherited his family fortune, acquired the Reed empire, and expanded his own business. He’s been thriving—no sign of despair, no regret at all." Miranda opened her mouth to respond, but Jackson raised a hand, silencing her. "I’ve seen him, Miranda," Jackson continued, voice intense. "I’ve seen him with another woman. She looks just like you, and you can’t tell me that’s a coincidence. Vincent’s type is clear—whether it's you or someone else, it’s all the same to him!" "Stop it, Jackson…" "No, I don’t get it," Jackson snapped. "It’s been three years! You say you’ve reinvented yourself, that you’re now Miranda, not Emily anymore. But why won’t you give me a chance? Is it because you still have feelings for him? Miranda, I spent half a year abroad just to find Emma Green for you. I put in all that effort to bring her back to prove everything to you. What for? You claim Vincent gave you the life you wanted, a sense of security, that he let you pursue all your dreams. But I can do all of that too! Just say the word, and I’ll give you anything you want. Yet, you refuse to lean on me or even ask for help. You treat me like I’m an outsider!" "Please, Jackson, stop…" Jackson’s emotions were spiraling, and he wasn’t about to stop. "Fine, I’ll stop. But give me a reason. What kind of man do you want? Tell me, and I’ll become him." The mention of three years ago drained all the strength from Miranda. She sank onto the couch, overwhelmed. Jackson moved closer, kneeling before her, gently placing his hands on her knees. "In the past, you said you loved someone else. You chose him over me, and I respected that. I just wanted you to be happy. But now? He’s gone, and I’m still here. Give me a chance, Miranda. Even just a trial period. If I fail, I’ll leave on my own. Would that be okay?" Miranda shook her head, overwhelmed with frustration. "Jackson, don’t do this. I’m not worth it…" "I don’t care what you think; I know you are," Jackson said firmly, brushing her cheek gently. "Miranda, I know you’re afraid of getting hurt again. But we’ll make it simple—a three-month trial. If, after three months, you don’t want me, I’ll leave." His determination left her with no escape. Miranda could feel her heart tighten. "Why are you doing this, Jackson?" "Who knows?" Jackson shrugged, his usual playful demeanor creeping in. "If I knew why, I would’ve gotten married and had kids by now. Instead, I’m stuck here, clinging to a lost cause." Despite his carefree tone, the weight of his words hit hard. For almost four years, this man had stayed by her side, no matter how many times she pushed him away. Miranda sighed deeply, her chest heavy with unspoken emotion. Jackson, not ready to back down, smirked. "So, what excuse do you have left? Go on, say it. I’ll counter every argument you throw at me." Miranda laughed, despite herself. "Weren’t you studying car design? Did you pick up debating on the side?" "No, no, no. I wasn’t studying design at all," Jackson grinned. "I was a philosophy major in college." Miranda blinked in surprise. "Philosophy?" "Yep," he nodded proudly. "My brother signed me up for it—total waste of time, nearly turned me into a philosopher. But you know my brother—he’s a charming devil, all smiles on the outside but ruthless when it comes to getting his way. I suffered through four years of that nonsense before I finally escaped abroad to study design." Miranda smiled, amused. "And now, after three years overseas, your brother hasn’t said anything?" "Oh, he’s said plenty," Jackson chuckled. "But I just told him that if Miranda dies, I’ll be heartbroken. If he keeps pushing me to come back, I’ll throw myself off a bridge. That shut him up." Miranda sighed again. "Jackson…" "Come on, I’ve laid it all out there for you. If you reject me now, you’ll be the coldest person alive. Just give me three months. Miranda, please?" A knock on the door interrupted them. Jackson groaned. "Really? Who picks this moment to knock?" Miranda stood up. "I’ll get it." She opened the door to find Bert standing awkwardly outside, holding a bowl of homemade dumplings. "Miranda, I saved you some dumplings. They turned out pretty well—try them." Miranda stepped aside. "Come in, Uncle." Bert entered, glancing at Jackson with a slight smile. "Jackson, I didn’t expect to see you here." Jackson scratched his head, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, just discussing a potential trip with Miranda… Anyway, you two enjoy. I’ve got something to take care of. I’ll head back to my room." "Sure, sure." Before leaving, Jackson paused at the door, turning back to Miranda. "Think about what I said. Call me anytime, day or night, when you’ve made up your mind." He made a hasty exit, clearly uncomfortable in front of her uncle. Bert set the dumplings on the coffee table, then eyed Miranda carefully. Miranda smiled. "What is it, Uncle? Why are you looking at me like that?" "Well," Bert began, still studying her closely, "it’s still you, but you look so different now. I’m not used to it." Miranda nodded. "I had to change my face when I changed my identity. You’ll get used to it eventually." Bert sat her down and pushed the dumplings closer. "Eat up before they get cold." "Did Jackson go out to get these for you?" "Yeah, I’ve gotten a bit picky in my old age. I just can’t get used to the food here." Miranda chuckled. "Don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll find you some good food around here." Then, she remembered something. "Uncle, I was thinking of taking you around Rome for some sightseeing. Do you think it’d be better if we went with a tour group or explored on our own?" Bert answered without hesitation. "Tour group, definitely. More people, more fun. Plus, you won’t have to worry about the itinerary. And the best part? It’s cheaper."