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The sound carries across the frozen lake and straight into my chest.

I’ve heard thousands of people laugh. Most of the time, it means nothing.

This does.

Because for the first time, I hear the woman beneath all that icy armor.

Before I can think better of it, I pull out my phone and take a photograph.

Artemis beneath the moon, snow in her hair and silver beneath her feet.

A moment nobody else knows exists.

I stare at the picture, frowning.

I don’t take photographs. Not of landscapes. Not of people. Definitely not of smart-mouthed heiresses trespassing on my property.

Yet there she is.

Saved on my phone.

A secret.

Mine.

Then Artemis slows to a stop.

My stomach drops when she turns and looks directly toward me.

Shit.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Then she pushes off, skating straight toward me.

Most people would see a suspicious figure standing among the trees in the middle of a snowstorm and head in the opposite direction.

Not Artemis.

No, she sees something suspicious and approaches it, just like she did with the storm on her first night here.

I watch her close the distance, each second making it harder to breathe.

I hate how vulnerable that makes me feel.

When she reaches the edge of the lake, I finally step out of the shadows.

The moment she stands in front of me, her eyes look almost molten beneath the moonlight.

She stares at me.

I stare back.

It feels like two storms realizing they’ve been moving toward each other long before either noticed.

“You followed me.”

No sarcasm. No insults.