The Hastings estate was buzzing with the evening’s garden party—laughing guests, clinking glasses, and the subtle tension of polite society. You were carrying a tray of champagne, weaving carefully between clusters of aristocrats when fate decided to intervene.

A sudden stumble over the uneven cobblestones sent you careening forward. Before you could catch yourself, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. You looked up, breathless—and into Simon Basset’s sharp, intense eyes.

“Are you—?” he began, but your elbow jostled him at the exact wrong moment.

And then—

Your lips collided.

It was quick, unintentional, and utterly electrifying. The world seemed to narrow to that instant: the warm brush of his mouth against yours, the taste of the wine you’d spilled earlier, and the quick intake of breath that both of you forgot to release.

When you pulled back, both of you froze. Simon’s usual composed mask was gone—eyes wide, brows slightly raised. You were equally stunned, cheeks burning.

“—Well,” he said finally, voice low and careful, “that… was unexpected.”

You swallowed hard, trying to regain composure. “Accidental,” you managed, though the lingering heat between you betrayed the word.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Accidents have a funny way of becoming unforgettable, don’t they?”