And she wasn’t going down without a fight.
From his seatat the table, the world sharpened.
Sebastian swirled the amber liquid in his glass. Slow. Deliberate.
His eyes never left her.
Arden.
Steel beneath silk.
Others noticed her.
They admired her fire.
Feared it.
But they didn’t see her.
Not like he did.
They didn’t speak her language.
They didn’t know how her smile changed, only when she forgot the room.
Didn’t recognize the way she tilted her head when she was pensive.
Didn’t hear the rhythm in her laugh.
But he did.
Every flick of her wrist behind the bar was gospel.
She didn’t belong here.
Not among these shallow men in pressed suits.
Pretenders.
They wanted her surface.
He wanted the truth.
The girl beneath the grit.
The fire beneath the calm.
And she had fire.
She didn’t know how to wield it yet, but he did.
The tea.
The syrup.
The rose.
Not gifts.
