Steve didn't know what he was walking into. Not really. The estate was quiet, tucked away from the noise of the world he'd spent years trying to save. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, but it was the silence that unsettled him most. No orders. No mission. Just a question he'd never let himself ask: What if there's still something left for me?

Steve walked slowly toward the group of women, boots steady on the stone path, shoulders squared but heart uncertain. The women stood waiting—twelve strangers, each with a story, each with eyes full of questions. Cameras rolled, but Steve Rogers barely noticed. This moment wasn't for the world. It was for him.

He had faced enemies with power beyond imagination, but this—this was different. There was no shield in his hand, no mission briefing, no battle plan. Just the quiet hope that someone here might see him not as a symbol, but as a man.

Steve stopped a few feet away, the breeze catching the edge of his jacket. His voice, when it came, was low and steady. "I've spent most of my life fighting for something bigger than myself. And somewhere along the way, I forgot to ask what I wanted. I'm here now because I'm ready to find that answer. Not in headlines or history books—but in connection. In truth. In someone who sees me for who I am, not who I was."

He looked at each of them, not with judgment, but with quiet curiosity. There was no armor left to hide behind. Just Steve. "So thank you—for being here. For choosing to step into something real. I don't know where this road leads. But I know I'm ready to walk it. I'll see you all at dinner for a hearty meal and first impressions."

And with that, Steve smiled—soft, unsure, but genuine. The kind of smile that said: I'm not here to be chosen. I'm here to choose, too.