Chapter 6

Elia POV:

I remembered that New Year' s Eve, when I was seventeen. I had finally gotten a few days off from the design academy, a rare luxury. I had hurried home, a small, carefully wrapped gift clutched in my frozen hands, my heart full of hope. I pressed my thumb to the fingerprint lock on our front door, once, twice, three times. The red light flashed, denying me entry. Error.

I called my father, the phone pressed against my numb ear. Laughter, Gidget's high-pitched giggle, spilled from the background. He sounded distant, irritated. "What do you want, Elia? We' re out. Skiing. With Gidget."

"Go back to your dorm," he' d snapped, before the line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in my ear, a prolonged, painful sting.

I don' t know how long I stood there, lost in the gathering dusk. The night had swallowed the last vestiges of daylight, leaving me in darkness. My fingers were numb, stiff with cold. The wrapping paper on my gift rustled in the biting wind.

Then, a beam of light sliced through the darkness. Christian's car. He practically leaped out, his breath pluming in white clouds. His eyes, sharp and concerned, immediately fell on the crushed, melting gift box at my feet.

"Elia!" he cursed, his voice tight. He grabbed my hands, chafing them between his, then pulled them against his chest, warming them, giving them life. "Why didn't you call me? Why did you just stay out here?"

My lips trembled, but no sound came out. He took out his earbuds, offering one to me. "Here," he said, his voice gentle. "Listen to this." He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His face, framed by the pale glow of the streetlamp, was breathtakingly handsome. "Don't cry," he whispered. "Happy New Year, Elia. I promise, I'll always be the first one to say it."

He pulled me closer, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "I'll take you away from all of this, Elia. Somewhere far away, where no one can hurt you, where there's no prejudice. And every year, I'll be the first to tell you 'Happy New Year'."

It was the first time I had ever seen a flicker of light in my endlessly gray life. The song swelled through the tiny earbud, a folk melody about enduring love. No matter what the world may say, my darling, I'll still whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

A tear, hot and heavy, splashed onto his hand. My heart, frozen and guarded for so long, began to beat with a wild, desperate hope.

Now, a decade later, Christian stood with Gidget in his arms, his eyes burning with accusation. "You're cold-blooded, Elia," he'd snarled.

The memory was a gaping wound.