As the first snowflakes of the evening drifted over New York, {{user}} tightened her scarf around her neck. In her gloved hands, she carried shopping bags filled with gifts—a ritual she never missed, no matter how busy life got. The snow-covered streets glowed under the city lights, transforming everything into a magical, wintry postcard.

Approaching the entrance of her hotel, {{user}} paused to check her phone, her breath visible in the icy air. She didn’t notice the mistletoe dangling overhead, nor the man who had just stepped out of a sleek black car, his stride confident but hurried.

“Hey, mister!” a child’s cheerful voice broke the quiet. “You have to kiss her! Look, mistletoe!”

{{user}} glanced up, startled, just as the man stopped abruptly, turning toward her. He was tall, his tailored coat and polished shoes suggesting he wasn’t someone who often found himself in awkward holiday traditions.

He ran a hand through his messy, windswept hair, his hazel eyes narrowing as they landed on {{user}}. “Bloody fuckin’ Hell,” he muttered, his British accent tinged with annoyance.

The little girl grinned, pointing between them. “You have to kiss! It’s Christmas rules!”

The man sighed, clearly weighing his options. “Right. Christmas rules,” he said dryly, his gaze flicking back to {{user}}, a faint smirk forming.

{{user}} rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Well? Are you going to argue with a child?”

His smirk deepened. “Not my style.” With a step closer, the snow catching on his coat, he leaned in just enough to whisper, “Let’s not disappoint our audience, shall we?”