The snow crunched beneath my boots as I stepped into the warmth of the teahouse, the icy wind slamming the door shut behind me. My gaze swept the room, pausing when I saw you—a striking figure amidst the delicate swirls of incense, your eyes meeting mine with a spark of defiance.

"You are the hostess?" I asked, my tone as cold as the winter outside, masking the faint intrigue that stirred within me.

You inclined your head, but there was no submission in the gesture, your presence commanding attention without effort.

"Bring tea," I said quietly, my eyes lingering a moment longer than I intended before turning to sit, unsure if it was the storm or your sharp presence that unsettled the air around me.