Chapter 4

The air in the wine cellar was thick, heavy with the scent of oak, damp earth, and the sweet, fermenting ghost of vintage reds. It was a sensory cocoon, sealed off from the rest of the venue by a heavy stone archway that had swallowed the distant hum of the party’s dying chatter. Here, in the belly of the earth, the only light came from a scattering of beeswax candles perched on the rusted iron rims of the casks, their flames flickering in the drafty stillness, casting long, dancing shadows against the curved stone walls. I stood in the center of the nook, the cool stone floor pressing through the thin silk of my slip dress. My heels had been kicked off, abandoned somewhere near the entrance to this private sanctuary, leaving my feet bare and sensitive against the cold. The event had been a whirlwind of clinking glasses and forced laughter, a performance I had sustained until my feet ached and my smile threatened to crumble. But now, in this secluded corner, surrounded by towering barrels of aging Pinot and Cabernet, the mask had slipped. He was here. And he was watching me. He stood near the largest cask,