Warm light spilled from the stalls in soft gold halos, reflecting off garlands, glass ornaments, and the thin layer of frost clinging to the wooden counters. The air smelled of roasted almonds, sugar, and mulled wine. She walked between them with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her brown overcoat, moving slowly, taking everything in.

She stood out without trying.

Her light blonde hair, long and softly wavy, caught the glow of the lights—most of it loose, some pulled into a loose side ponytail that brushed her shoulder when she turned her head. Her blue eyes, wide and slightly cat-shaped, lingered on every detail with quiet curiosity. Freckles dusted her fair cheeks and nose, faint but unmistakable. She wore a dark brown long-sleeved shirt beneath a green jacket, layered for warmth, practical and simple. Small black hoop earrings glinted when she moved. There was nothing showy about her—just calm, natural presence.

She stopped at a stall filled with sweets. Candied apples, sugared nuts, chocolate-dipped pastries. Her lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile as she leaned closer to look.

Rowan noticed instantly.

“You want some?” he said, already stepping forward. His voice was warm, easy. “I’ll get them for you.”

She turned, surprised. “Oh—Rowan, it’s really not necessary—”

He was already halfway there.

Lucien didn’t sigh. He didn’t frown. He simply watched Rowan’s back retreat into the crowd, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. His hands folded behind his coat, posture straight, composed. Of course he did, Lucien thought. Quick, instinctive, generous in ways that were impossible to compete with without seeming calculated.

Adrian smiled.

It was smooth, practiced, flawless—but his fingers flexed once inside his gloves before he stilled them. “He’s enthusiastic,” he said lightly, glancing at her. “That’s one way to describe him.”

She laughed softly, still watching Rowan. “He really didn’t have to.”

“You say that every time,” Adrian replied, tone gentle, as if it didn’t bother him at all. As if he didn’t keep count.

Lucien stepped closer to her, just enough to block a gust of cold wind. “You shouldn’t feel guilty,” he said quietly. “He wants to.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “I know. I just don’t want anyone to feel like they have to compete.”

Lucien’s gaze flickered—brief, unreadable. “We’re not competing.”

Adrian met Lucien’s eyes over her head, smile still in place.

They all knew that wasn’t true.

Rowan returned moments later, cheeks flushed from the cold, holding a small paper cone of sugar-dusted sweets. “Here,” he said, offering them to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I got the ones with cinnamon. You looked at those the longest.”

Her expression softened immediately. “Rowan…”

She took them, their fingers brushing. He beamed.

Lucien looked away first. Adrian’s smile sharpened just a fraction.

And she—unaware or choosing not to be—stood between them, framed by lights and winter air, loving all of them in a way that made none of them feel safe.