It was well past midnight when I woke up thirsty. The cabin was silent except for the low groan of settling wood and the distant howl of wind against the windows. I slipped out of bed in socks, robe tied loosely, and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Halfway there, voices stopped me cold.
They were coming from the study—low at first, then rising sharp and jagged. The door was cracked open, just enough for sound to spill out. I shouldn’t have listened. But I did.
“You’re crossing a line,” Ian’s voice—calm, but steel underneath. “We all agreed. Holiday only. No strings. No future. You’re the one who keeps breaking the rules in your head.”
Aiden’s laugh was ugly. “Don’t lecture me, Ian. You’re the one who took her on that little romantic snowshoe walk like some Hallmark prince.
