Chapter 3

The air in the grand hall of the Christmas market was thick, not just with the heavy, sweet scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts, but with a tension that felt like a physical weight pressing against my ribs. It had been hours since I’d first caught his eye across the crowded pavilion, hours since he’d approached with that slow, deliberate stride that made the noise of the crowd fade into a dull roar. Now, the crowd had thinned, the vendors closing up their wooden stalls, the string lights above twinkling like frozen stars against the deepening twilight. We were alone in the aisle between the spice merchants and the artisan candle sellers, a narrow corridor of shadow and warmth that felt less like a public space and more like a private stage. He stood close enough that I could feel the radiating heat of him, a stark contrast to the crisp December chill biting at my cheeks. He was watching me, that dark, unreadable gaze stripping away the layers of my composure. I felt exposed, raw, my skin prickling with the awareness of his presence. My jacket, a heavy wool blend I’d thrown on over my dress, was slightly