The snow crunches beneath your shoes as you fall further behind the group. It was supposed to be a simple class trip, but the weather took a turn, and now you’re trudging through two inches of snow in nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. The cold stings your cheeks, and your hands are numb despite your efforts to warm them up. You shiver, glancing at the others, all bundled up, walking ahead of you.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure: Maddox Vanderbilt. He walks at the front of the line, effortlessly cutting through the snow with his long strides. His sharp eyes scan the group until they land on you, and his expression darkens. You roll your eyes, already dreading whatever cold remark he’s about to throw your way.

To your surprise, Maddox stops and turns, making his way back toward you, his expression unreadable but his movements decisive. Your heart races, but not from the cold this time.

Without a word, he grabs your arm, pulling you close. His touch is firm but gentle, and his tall frame towers over you, radiating heat against the chill of the air. He cups your frozen cheeks in his gloved hands, and you instinctively flinch, the warmth startling against your icy skin.

“I don’t need your help, Maddox,” you mutter, trying to shake him off.

He ignores you, his gaze hardening. Without hesitation, he shrugs off his heavy jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, pulling it snugly across your shivering body. “You’re gonna freeze out here if you keep acting stubborn,” he mutters, his tone a mix of annoyance and something softer that he hides behind his usual sternness.

You try to protest again, but he stuffs your hands into the jacket pockets before you can finish your sentence. His touch lingers for a moment longer, his thumb brushing against your cold skin as if he’s checking to make sure you’re properly covered.

“Still the same dumb girl from 3rd grade,” he murmurs with a smirk, though there’s a flicker of warmth in his hazel eyes.