Chapter 002

Dolly’s POV

By the time sunlight crept through the curtains, I’d finally stopped replaying the breakup in my head. Or I thought I had—until my bedroom door flew open like someone was trying to perform an exorcism.

Lena burst inside wearing Christmas pajamas and chaotic energy.

“Rise and shine, emotionally betrayed rodent!” she announced, hands on hips.

I groaned and dragged a pillow over my face. “Why are you like this?”

She yanked the pillow away. “Because I love you. And also because you ran to my house in the middle of a snowstorm after catching your boyfriend doing gymnastics with his best friend. That gives me full feral-friend rights.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Please don’t…”

“Too late.” She plopped onto the mattress beside me. “I’ve already prepared a revenge catalog.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“A menu of options,” she said proudly. “Option one: we order a life-sized bouquet of onions and send it anonymously to the happy couple.”

I choked on a laugh. “Lena…”

“Option two,” she continued, holding up a finger, “we make him think he’s going bald by sprinkling his shower with hair clippings. Psychological warfare.”

“Lena, no…”

“Option three,” she said dramatically, “we enroll him in a ‘find your true sexuality through dance’ workshop without his consent.”

I snorted so loudly she looked proud. “You’re insane.”

“Yes,” she agreed cheerfully. “But you’re smiling again, which is the goal.”

Her grin softened, just a little. “Look, Dolly… you don’t have to talk about it yet. Not until you’re ready. But this…” she gestured around the cozy lodge room “—is exactly where you should be. Warmth, pastries, emotional support, and my father, who won’t notice anything unless it’s written in a financial report.”

My stomach tightened.

If only that were true, but how far could I go before seeing Lena’s dad again?

I did everything humanly possible to avoid Jace Steadman that day.

I planned my exits.

Timed my hallway routes.

Used decorative pillars for cover like a spy avoiding detection.

But it didn’t matter.

Every time I turned around, he was there—

standing in a doorway, adjusting his sleeves;

walking past a window, reflections catching me before I could look away;

passing behind me with that quiet, controlled presence that pinned me without touching me.

I hate how easily my body noticed him.

How fast my breath changed.

How familiar that reaction felt after years of pretending it didn’t exist.

I had crushed on this man since I was fourteen —pathetically, quietly, invisibly.

Apparently, heartbreak hadn’t cured me.

Great.

At brunch, things went from awkward to catastrophic.

Bianca Frost, Jace’s glorified Fiancée, sorry Ex Fiancée entered the dining room in a cloud of expensive perfume and the kind of white cashmere that could single-handedly fund a small village. She looked like she floated everywhere, which I knew from experience was entirely intentional.

Lena leaned toward me, whispering, “The Ice Queen has arrived. Brace yourself.”

Bianca’s eyes landed on me immediately.

“Oh,” she said brightly, her voice dipped in sugar and poison. “Dolly. You’re here early. And wearing… that.”

“That,” apparently, was my maroon sweater and jeans.

She sipped her mimosa delicately. “I wasn’t sure city thrift fashion was still in season, but I admire your commitment.”

Lena straightened so fast her chair squeaked. “Bianca…”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, even though my throat felt tight.

It wasn’t fine.

But before Bianca could continue sharpening her claws…

“Bianca.”

Jace didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look up from his tablet.

But the room shifted anyway.

Her smile stiffened. “I was merely…”

“You were being rude,” he said calmly. “Don’t.”

The table fell into absolute silence.

Bianca hid her shock badly. Everyone saw it. I felt it like static along my skin—his tone, his certainty, the way he didn’t let her wriggle out gracefully.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t protective in a dramatic way.

It was just… matter-of-fact. Honest. 

Which somehow made my stomach twist even more.

Lena grinned so hard I worried her face would split. “And that, Dolly dear, is why my father has two settings: emotionally oblivious… and laser-guided missile.”

I escaped before Bianca could try again.

By evening, all I wanted was quiet.

The main fireplace was huge, warm, and empty—just the glow of flames and the occasional pop of burning wood. I curled up on the long sofa, hugging a pillow to my chest, letting the heat soften the ache in my ribs.

All day, I’d held myself together by force.

But the stillness cracked everything open.

Not with sobbing—just slow, quiet tears I tried wiping before they fell. A tiny grief leaking out in inconvenient droplets.

I didn’t hear the footsteps until they stopped beside me.

“Dolly?”

I froze.

Of course.

Of course he’d find me when I least wanted him to.

I turned my head.

Jace was standing there, tall and immaculate, one hand still on the doorframe. Snow dusted his hair and shoulders, melting into his dark sweater. The firelight painted gold along the lines of his face—sharp, tired, impossibly breathtaking.

He stepped inside quietly and closed the door behind him.

He looked at me for a long moment. Not pitying. Not intrusive. Just… seeing me.

“I wasn’t searching for you,” he said finally, his voice low and even. “I was only walking.”

Something about that made my stomach jump. A stupid, ridiculous reaction I immediately hated.

He walked toward the sofa and sat beside me—not touching, just close enough that his warmth reached my skin.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said, eyes on the fire. “Not tonight.”

The gentle tone nearly undid me.

Why did he sound like that?

Why did my chest answer like it had been waiting for it?

Why now, when everything inside me was still scraped raw?

I swallowed—hard, useless, obvious.

He turned his head slowly, studying me with a quiet intensity that made warmth crawl up my neck. His gaze dipped—just once—to the tear I’d failed to blink away.

Then he reached out.

His thumb brushed the tear from my cheek, soft enough to shatter me.

Heat. Shock. Want. Guilt.

All of it slammed through me so fast my breath caught.

His fingers stilled.

His eyes dropped to my lips—quick, reflexive, like a mistake he’d made before he could stop himself.

The air tightened, sharp and alive.

I pulled back first—not dramatically, just a small, startled flinch that made his hand fall to his lap.

My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the crackle of the fire.

What is happening to me?

Why am I reacting to him like this?

Why him, of all people?

Why now, when I should still be grieving the mess my life just became?

I curled my hands into my sleeves, staring at the flames like they had answers.

One terrifying truth settled in the space between us:

Whatever this strange, dangerous pull was…

I could no longer pretend I didn’t feel it.

And judging from the way he looked at me just now…

he couldn’t either.

Christmas was going to be a disaster.

And maybe… something much worse.