"Are you drunk?"
Aiden Cross narrowed his eyes and, without ceremony, plucked the empty beer can from the woman's hand.
"If you can't handle your liquor, maybe don't chug it like a college freshman trying to win a keg race."
He flung the can into a nearby trash bin with a metallic clatter, brushing snow off his sleeves with the kind of restraint that barely hid his growing irritation.
"I'm not drunk," she said evenly, meeting his gaze with unnerving calm. "I meant what I said, Aiden. I'm serious."
Aiden blinked at her, then exhaled a long, tired breath. Disappointment colored every syllable as he shook his head.
"I thought you were just someone bored enough to listen to a stranger mourn his heartbreak. But now you're making weird proposals? What is this—some kind of messed-up revenge romance? Payback because I used to date Claire?"
The scoff that followed was bitter enough to freeze over what was left of his patience.
The woman groaned dramatically, peeling off her scarf like it was strangling her.
"Oh, for God's sake—"
Off came the sunglasses, then the knit hat, and finally, the mask.
Aiden instinctively stepped back, bracing for a dramatic reveal he couldn't quite name—cult leader, unhinged fan, secret paparazzo.
Instead, time seemed to stall.
It was like someone had turned the focus dial and everything around her snapped into high-definition. She wasn't just pretty—she was impossibly striking. Eyes that could cut through steel, lips painted like a poem, skin lit from within. Everything about her looked like it belonged on a cinema screen or a dream you wake up aching from.
"You—" Aiden started, recognition flickering behind his eyes.
She tilted her head and smiled. "You recognize me now, don't you?"
He nodded slowly, disbelief crawling across his face. "You look like... Valeria Quinn."
Bingo.
Valeria Quinn—the voice behind every chart-topping hit, the face on billboards from Times Square to Tokyo, and the actress with two Golden Globe nominations to her name. That Valeria.
She gave him a playful curtsy. "Guilty as charged. I'm flattered you noticed."
But Aiden didn't gape or gawk. He didn't even seem remotely impressed.
Instead, he frowned.
Of course she was connected. Of course she knew Claire. Same label, same circles. Same manager—the infamously heartless Gloria Lang.
Birds of glittering cages flock together.
"Well, in that case—definitely not interested," he said flatly.
Valeria arched a brow, amused. "Oof. That's cold."
"Just realistic."
She gave him a honey-sweet smile, laced with mock sympathy. "I know I'm out of your league, but you don't have to sound so defensive."
"Insecure?" Aiden let out a short laugh. "I've been dumped, publicly humiliated, and I'm currently day-drinking in a snowstorm. Insecurity doesn't cover it. But you showing up in the middle of all this with your cryptic proposals? That's a new level of chaos."
Her amusement faded. The playfulness in her gaze dimmed into something more precise.
"You didn't lose her because she got famous. You lost her because you never made her believe you were willing to fight for her."
Aiden's spine stiffened.
"You said it was love, but the second the pressure hit, you disappeared. That's not sacrifice. That's fear."
Her words landed like a punch to the chest.
"You backed off, convinced you'd only hold her back. But deep down, you weren't protecting her—you were protecting yourself from the pain of possibly being left behind."
He stared at her, unable to deny the way her words twisted something deep inside.
"No comeback?" she asked, tilting her head. "I thought journalists lived for rebuttals."
Aiden remained quiet, crushing the beer can in his hand until it crumpled with a sharp crack.
"I walked away because I thought it was the right thing," he muttered.
"Was it right? Or was it easy?" Valeria shot back.
Psssh!
The can gave out completely, spraying the last sip of warm beer across his coat.
God, why was she still standing there? Without the mask and scarf, it was harder to stay angry. Harder to hide.
Valeria took a step closer—too close. Their breaths mingled in the cold, her gaze piercing through the alcohol haze.
"What if I told you this was a test?"
Aiden groaned and pushed her back with a gentle palm to the forehead. "Jesus. What are you, a twisted game show host? If this is a test, then congratulations—I'm failing."
She only laughed, unfazed. "It's not a joke. This marriage proposal? It's a test… and a shot at something bigger."
"Right. A shot at headlines. Maybe even a scandal or two. You know what? I've got enough trauma without adding 'tabloid husband' to the mix."
"No," she said softly. "It's a chance to prove you weren't her weakness. To prove you could've stayed and held your own."
His jaw tensed. That name again. Claire.
Valeria's voice dropped, steady but no less fierce. "If you marry me, every camera in the country will be pointed at us. You'll face every doubt, every whisper. But if you come out standing? No one can ever say you were just her shadow."
He considered her in silence, then finally raised a fresh can and lazily tapped it against hers.
"You sound like a motivational speaker who moonlights as a chaos agent."
"I prefer realist," she said.
He took a long swig, then looked her square in the eyes. "Alright, then. Be real. Why me? You could have your pick of billionaires."
"I don't trust billionaires," she said plainly. "And I don't trust anyone who treats me like a brand."
He blinked, caught off guard.
She looked away, more vulnerable now. "You're the only guy I've met who didn't light up like a Christmas tree the second he recognized me. You looked... annoyed. Human."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
"Plus, what Gloria said at the agency dinner pissed me off," Valeria added. "'If a female star gets married, her career's over.' I want to prove her wrong. I want to prove all of them wrong."
"So this is rebellion."
"It's a rewrite," she said. "And I need someone real beside me."
He let the silence settle.
"What happens when it all implodes?" he asked. "When the press digs into everything? When people start turning on us?"
"Then we walk away. No bitterness. No damage. Just a clean break. But if we pull it off..." she looked at him with fire in her eyes, "we make history."
Aiden let out a low laugh. "Too late to avoid damage."
She nodded. "We're both clawing our way out of something, Aiden. Maybe we're not chasing the same dream, but we're both chasing something."
Valeria leaned in slightly. "And you… you're braver than you think. You loved hard. You got hurt. But you're still here. That's not weakness. That's grit."
He didn't reply.
But something shifted.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the ache he'd been carrying like a secret. But for the first time in a long time, he felt the edge of something dangerous… and honest.
"Alright," he said, voice steady.
Valeria's brows lifted. "You mean—"
"We'll do it. We'll get married."
The words came easier than they should have.
He stood up abruptly, the cold air spinning around him like applause. Whether it was the booze or the sheer lunacy of his decision, he wasn't sure. But it felt like the first real decision he'd made in months.
Valeria reached for his arm, steadying him. "Are you okay?"
He brushed her hand off with a grunt. "Fine. But one thing still bugs me."
"What now?"
"Are you marrying me because you believe in some big statement... or because you're secretly into my brooding charm?"
Valeria stared at him.
Then, blinking slowly, she said flatly, "Wow. You're actually insane."
"I prefer the term hopeful."
She turned her head, possibly to hide a smile. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're stuck with me now," he said with a dramatic sweep of his arm. "For the headlines. For the cause. And obviously, for my devastating good looks."
Valeria groaned. "Regret is setting in already."