They reached a small park, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows onto the pavement. The world moved around them—strangers passing by, conversations blending into the background.
And then, Vincent suddenly stopped walking.
Anastasia turned to look at him, her brows slightly furrowed. "What is it?"
Vincent didn't answer.
Instead, without warning, he pulled her into a hug.
Right there, in the middle of the bustling streets, in front of strangers who had no idea who they were.
Anastasia stiffened, caught off guard. Vincent had never been shy about his feelings for her, but public displays of affection were rare.
Not because they were inappropriate—after all, no one knew who they were—but because they had never needed them.
But this… this was different.
There was something in the way he held her.
Something raw.
Something unspoken.
His arms tightened around her, as if he was afraid that the moment would slip through his fingers.
As if he wanted to freeze time.
She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek, the warmth of his body, the quiet but undeniable strength in his embrace.
Vincent, the man who held the world in the palm of his hands, was holding onto her like she was the only thing that mattered.
His lips brushed against her hair as he whispered, "I love you."