HER POV
The pressure of his hand disappeared from my mouth, but my breath caught in my throat anyway. My voice had deserted me.
I lay frozen, eyes locked with his.
He wasn’t wearing a mask. No ski cap. No effort to hide.
Just dark clothes and darker eyes, his face carved like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know. Sharp jaw. Shadowed stubble. A scar that cut through his brow like it had a story. He looked… real. Too real.
He didn’t flinch under my stare. Didn’t move. Just watched me, like I was the one trespassing.
“Say something,” he said softly.
“I—” I swallowed. “I don’t know who you are.”
He smiled.
And it ruined me.
Not because it was charming.
Because it was delighted.
He leaned in, his breath hot against my jaw, and whispered like a confession:
“I know who you are, Genevie
