She opened the wrong billionaire’s package. He opened his frozen heart for her.
I accidentally opened a billionaire’s mail.
In my defense, the package was supposed to be my rose gold pine cones—the ones that would finally make our Christmas tree Instagram-worthy instead of sad-Charlie-Brown-special. But no.
I tore into Noel Frost’s custom smartwatch like a kid on Christmas morning, and now I’m standing at his penthouse door, trying to explain to the hottest—and coldest—man I’ve ever met why I committed a federal offense.
He should be furious. Instead, he’s smirking at me like I’m the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in years.
One conversation on a freezing terrace changes everything. He’s a cynical billionaire who sees Christmas as a quarterly revenue stream.
I’m an optimistic content coordinator who believes in fairy lights and second chances. He hasn’t felt anything real in fifteen years. I feel everything, especially when it comes to Christmas.
We’re supposed to be wrong for each other. But when he kisses me in a hidden rooftop greenhouse, surrounded by sleeping plants and city lights, none of that matters.
The question is, can a man who’s forgotten how to feel remember what it means to fall?
