Thank you for the reviews and the messages regarding this work, I have not written present day for such a long time but felt the need to re work something that's about 15 year old and give it a whole new meaning now. I am hoping it all works great.

I know I am late to the party but...Happy new years! Hope '25 treats you well.

He might be a bad boy with a tainted heart, but that didn't stop her stomach from soaring as the motorcycle sped across the cobbled streets of London. He expertly darted in and out of oncoming traffic amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Holding onto the contours of his hard body left her feelings just as erratic as the ride itself. Her fingers joined at his abdomen, where she could feel the muscles below.

As they came to a screeching halt along the Thames, with the London Bridge looming in the background and only a few streetlamps lighting the area, Rose should have felt terrified. However, when he climbed off the motorcycle and removed his helmet, her heart raced even more at seeing his handsome face. He was stunning, and the tangling of her insides made her forget that her head felt like it had doubled in size.

Wobbly as she attempted to dismount, his hands silently steadied her waist until she was stable enough to remove her helmet. When she did, her bun unravelled, causing her unruly curls to tumble around her face and shoulders in long, auburn layers. The thought of her mother seeing her like this excited her. Perhaps it was the rebellious streak awakening within her, but all she could do was smile as she tried to make sense of her feelings. This was dangerous…

A tender finger traced beneath her eye and down her cheek as soon as her helmet was off. Rose suddenly stopped breathing at the beautiful touch, which felt almost angelic to her. It was as if she were broken glass, and he could be the one to mend the finest cracks.

"You're going to need some ice on that."

"I will be alright," she dismissed him eagerly, detesting the attention now focused on her.

"No, you won't."

"How do you know that I won't?" Rose fired back.

"Because I've seen too many girls hit by their guy and thrown out onto the streets, just like you were tonight."

Rose narrowed her eyes at him as best she could despite the tightening sensation across her lower lids and the ache in her forehead. She was about to dissect him under the incandescent light before the palpable feeling of his presence spoke for itself, but still, she asked. "What are you? Some kind of knight who comes to rescue the damsel?"

"No, not at all,'' he pressed his lips together and parted them in a deep exhale as his breath clouded about them. ''But when it is your sister and her husband, it kind of makes it a little different, you see.''

Suddenly, Rose closed her mouth and turned away to gaze at the Thames with watery eyes and a sinking heart. How foolish of her to speak so freely without knowing his circumstances.

"I'm sorry, that was unkind of me to say. You helped me, and I want to thank you for what you did."

The guy joined her at the wall, equally entranced by the moonlight dancing on the water. Their breaths clouded around them, and after the initial shock wore off, Rose began to shiver in the icy air of December. There was something magical about this time of year, the essence lingering in the air, yet as the cold seeped into her bones, it left her with a profound stillness.

"Here," his hand moved to her shoulders, but something caused her to flinch and shrink back until he raised his palms and quickly backed away.

"I'm sorry; I saw you shiver. I just wanted to give you my jacket."

Rose glanced at her shoulders, where his leather jacket rested. She swallowed the lump in her throat and the distorted sense of reality that had enveloped her evening.

"Well... all right." Rose huddled into the jacket, pulling at the lapels and taking in his scent. The entire evening felt surreal, but his smell made her stomach twist like it was curling within. The jacket's stiffness felt like armour, giving her a newfound sense of self-assurance.

"Hey, do you have a name?"

"Rose," she replied without hesitation. "What about you?"

"I'm Jack. Jack Dawson." He spoke while seeming to study her intently.

"Are you a waiter at the hotel?"

"Something like that." Jack's deep gaze swept over her once more, and she felt the intensity of it until he casually shoved his hands into his pockets and began to kick his leather Doc Martens against the cobbled street. "I saw you in there tonight with the rich and famous."

Rose laughed a hint of self-deprecation in her voice. "Yes, it was quite the party."

"I've seen more life at a funeral, and you looked like you were at one tonight."

Rose smiled with amusement, and he mirrored her expression. Then, beneath the streetlight, she almost fell in love with the sound of a stranger laughing. Just that sound. The way he looked. Everything…

"Yeah, that's what Cal tells me."

"Cal?"

"Yeah, the guy you just knocked out."

"Oh, him." Once more, Jack seemed to study her closely. "Guys like him deserve more than that, and a girl like you deserves more than him."

Their eyes locked briefly, and she contemplated what it would be like to kiss him.

Imagine that, Mama: I'm not coming home. I'm in love with a stranger who could be a criminal. This love isn't rational; it's completely physical.

God, it was physical. What else could it be?

"A girl like me?"

"Yeah." Jack didn't explain further, nor did she press him for details. Instead, she turned her attention back to the Thames, seeking solace in silence for a little while. While her mind spun with erratic thoughts, it somehow managed to settle on the calmness of the water. How peaceful London felt in comparison to her hectic days. Beneath her feet, her heels clicked against the uneven, cobbled street; one could only marvel at their history and the fascinating stories they could tell. Just before midnight, a young American girl and a strange man were beside the river. How would her story turn out?

To say it was New Year's Eve, it was eerily quiet. Midnight had yet to come, which meant the usual chaos of fireworks and cheers was still to come. The raucous parties would go on until dawn, but Rose hadn't planned past the next moment. Her fate seemed to lie in the hands of this stranger somehow.

After a little while, Jack asked, "Are you from New York?" Rose turned to see him smoking a rolled-up cigarette, his overgrown, dirty blonde hair flipped to one side.

"What gave it away?" she replied.

"The guy. I know his face from the papers but can't seem to remember yours at all."

"I like to stay out of them and off social media."

He smiled, glancing down. "Yeah, I wouldn't know about that. I've never even been on social media."

"Truly? How I wish I could. My mother insists on keeping up appearances and posting this and that about Cal or me."

"Well, tonight, you'll no doubt leave Hell in your wake."

Ignoring the dread in her stomach, she turned the spotlight onto him.

"What about you? What made you travel here? Are there no waiter jobs back home?"

"Ah, just life. Wherever I want to go, I just… go. My bike and I."

"So you just head out wherever you feel like?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sounds like heaven," Rose mused, smiling down, the realisation settling in. This man was a free spirit, soaring around endlessly, while she felt like a caged bird, free only for the night. If things were as they used to be, she would no doubt be returned.

"It can be hell," he replied.

"Truly?" Rose doubted that very much. "Care to tell me how?"

"Loneliness. No money. No family…" He started but trailed off.

"I thought you had a sister," she reminded him.

"I did."

Rose felt a pang in her heart. "Is she—"

"She passed. Two years ago. The prick got away with it, of course."

Suddenly, the freezing winter night seemed to envelop her. It was as though she had been plunged into the Thames. For some reason, her eyes brimmed with tears as she glanced up at the man before her. Everything was slotting into place. There was vulnerability. Jack, the waiter—or the man who had saved her—whoever he was, wore his heart on his sleeve. No tricks. No games. Rose wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him, to perhaps be the one to offer him some comfort. That one feather-light touch across her cheek had stirred every emotion within her that Cal had been trying to elicit for months at a time when most would be untrusting of men.

''Oh, I am so sorry. I cannot even imagine,'' Rose said, studying him intently. Losing a sister in such a way…

''I bet you can,'' he shot back quickly. ''I saw what he did to you outside that party. What else has he ever done to you?''

Rose lowered her gaze, feeling uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny. Tucking a curl behind her ear that had escaped with the wind, she revealed her swollen cheek. He stared at her, his nostrils flaring, before he turned his attention to the Thames.

Why did she want to lie to this stranger and tell him that tonight was the first time he had ever laid hands on her? It wasn't to protect Cal; she had nothing to gain from lying. She didn't want to evoke painful memories for someone whose sister had been murdered by a violent man.

''You know I have never spoken about any of this aloud, so it doesn't feel right to do so now,'' Rose said, her eyes darting around, feeling the sting from her cheek. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to acknowledge how swollen or how horrible she looked to this handsome guy who had somehow saved her. ''Not with a stranger.''

''I understand,'' Jack replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette before fixing her with a soulful stare that almost made her feel like she would dissolve into a pool of bones and skin. ''But I'd say we're more than strangers, wouldn't you?''

Rose could only gaze back at him, staring with all her strength until her eyes filled with tears again. This time, they fell. Why? She had no idea.

When Jack confidently strode toward her, flicking away his cigarette as he approached, she didn't back away. Not even when he embraced her—one filled with emotion, so different from Cal's. Jack was warm and careful as he stroked her hair, gently untangling knots. He kissed her crown tenderly and wrapped his arms firmly but gently around her shoulders. That was when the tears began to fall…

"Now we are more than strangers," he whispered into her ear, threading his fingers through her hair. All she could do was reciprocate the embrace and rest against his softness. "But I understand your silence."

"Probably more than anybody," she replied.

"Uh-huh." She felt him give a nod.

Rose knew she should push back, part ways, and allow him to remain a mystery. One day, she would look back at this moment and think, "What was I thinking?" But something kept her there, trembling within his embrace and taking comfort from his touch. Oh, how she knew he would never hurt her—or any woman for that matter. She had never felt as safe and sheltered in such a fleeting moment as she did right then, and it unsettled her; he was breaking down even the strongest of her barriers.

"Would you tell me about your sister? Just little things, inconsequential bits. Her favourite colour, hair colour, and height—anything you remember about her that wasn't shrouded in abuse?"

Rose could feel Jack's throat hesitate as he swallowed. His grip around her tightened, and he stopped stroking her hair momentarily to contemplate her strange request.

"Kim," he said after a few minutes of silence, his voice gravelly yet melodic as if he were reading her a poem. "Kimberley-Anne. She hated her full name, saying it was too formal—a mouthful. I'd tease her about it all the time." She felt his chest rattle with a choked laugh. "She was three years older than me, but she felt like a little sister, even though she was nearly six feet tall."

Rose felt the top of her head rest against Jack's mouth, where his lips pressed tender kisses several times. She wondered if he realised he was doing so. "How tall are you?" she asked.

"Six foot one inch." She felt him smile. "There wasn't much between us, I know. Mom was so small; Dad was taller than me. In family photos, we towered over poor Mom." Rose wanted to ask about his parents but didn't want to interrupt.

"Kim was the head cheerleader in high school. The guys all thought she was beautiful—this tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. And she was gorgeous, but underneath that, she was the most amazing, kind, and loyal person I had ever met. Her favourite colour was blue, like the Pacific Ocean, which led her to move to Santa Monica, where she met the guy she married."

Feeling a little sturdier, Rose found it in her to pull back just a fraction and looked into a similar blue within his eyes, so she could only imagine how beautiful his sister could have been. ''I know that nothing anyone ever says can stop any pain that you have endured, but I just want you to know that I am sorry for your loss.''

''Thank you.'' Jack smiled down at her so sincerely that her legs wobbled a little. It sparked a little thought: had anyone ever offered him condolences? Has anyone cared about him enough to extend them?

''And I hope that…he rots, somewhere.''

Another long pause ensued, and Rose felt uncertain about pulling away entirely, but his grip on her was firm. His eyes seemed to penetrate through her skin. His hand, gentle and patient, moved to caress the taut skin around her cheek, then up to her eye, and back down to her lip. She winced at a sharp sting, strong enough to make her eyes water and her body stiffen.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Your lip is cut, too," he said softly.

Quickly, she raised a finger to her cupid's bow and discovered that it was indeed swollen and sore. "I didn't know."

"You wouldn't, not when you're already so numb," Jack whispered gently. "With a boyfriend like that."

"He was worse than that, I'm afraid."

"How?" Jack stiffened.

"Fiancé. We were supposed to be married on Valentine's Day."

"Was?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Rose said, touching where the gaudy, expensive ring had rested until that evening. "I just ended it. That was the reason he dragged me out of there."

"What happened?"

"He... well, he didn't like that I wasn't more interactive with his lawyer friends. I don't enjoy these sorts of events, but he grabbed me. He enjoys having the upper hand; showing others I am his property." Rose could only look away from the distraction of his eyes and try to make sense of her erratic thoughts while recounting the story of her twisted life. "I have never felt so ashamed, alone, and confused. I swear my mother knew some of it but refused to acknowledge it. I am her pawn, you see…" Rose glanced off, past his shoulder, into the darkness of the Thames and wished she could rest her chin against him again to find some warmth or comfort from this enigmatic stranger.

"No, I don't see."

"When my father left us last year, it was for a woman just a few years older than me. She had money, inherited a big estate, and was quite the social media influencer before that." Rose wished she could laugh, though it would only come out as a pitiful sound. "The addiction my father developed when I was a child led him to gamble away every dime we ever had."

"Oh, Jesus…" Jack shook his head. "Could your mother get a job, like the other mortals have to?"

"Of course not; Mother has no skills and has never sought employment. I couldn't either, but I'd be willing. She never would. She went from her father's money to her husband's, which would also be my husband's money." Rose sighed, feeling the stress of the evening and the entanglement of her entire life now seemingly catching up with her. "I hate money. It's the root of all evil. It's the root of my marriage to Caledon Hockley."

''So you were the one to save the family name, huh?''

''Unfortunately, yes.'' Rose winced at her naivety. ''Mother painted quite a picture of him, highlighting his name's power. He was a lawyer who had just helped some guy get off with murder, which was quite a scandal back home. But she focused on how handsome and wonderful he was. She thought he had been a bachelor for too long and needed to marry.''

''What did he get out of it?''

''Me. A woman to parade endlessly on his arm. His reputation wouldn't be ruined; he would be seen as the hero, wouldn't he? Saving us from disgrace, saving the innocent from jail, and saving my mother from needing to sell her fine things to maintain her dignity until the end of time.''

Jack listened silently, digesting her words, and she noted the tightness in his jaw.

''What did you get out of it?''

''Pain.''

Rose's skin felt as if it were on fire, beyond tender, and she winced even at the movement of her eyes. Yet, she remained trapped within his embrace. Serenity washed over them as time stood still for a fleeting moment. Then Big Ben's gong echoed throughout the capital, causing Rose to jump. Somehow, Jack managed to keep her grounded and entirely still. Still startled, she breathed so hard that she had to open her mouth to catch more air.

Time seemed to freeze again as Big Ben chimed repeatedly…

Cheers erupted from the crowd, echoing across the Thames, but that sound faded into the background, just like the last five chimes marking the official arrival of the New Year.

2025. The new year was here.

''It is midnight,'' Jack whispered hoarsely into her ear. ''Happy New Year, Rose.''

Jack lowered his mouth to hers and rested it there as if she were as fragile as an eggshell. Above them, an explosion of fireworks boomed, lighting up the sky and reflecting off the water, creating a beautiful, hope-filled beginning for many. The fireworks drew rainbows in the night, embodying both chaos and predictability. They had time and space, painting the sky with blazing trails. Something about them warmed her even in the cold, as if their stray sparks brushed against her.

Then, his lips pressed over hers, and she felt his handshake. Hesitation flooded her, but then she felt the tip of his tongue graze her lips. At that moment, she realised she had never been appropriately kissed before—never like this, not forced, not enjoyable, nothing like this.

This was, in all honesty, her first real kiss.

The kiss was filled with hope, comfort, and stability.

It was everything Rose had not envisioned herself doing at midnight, as fireworks erupted above, cheers echoed, and the final fading notes of "Auld Lang Syne" played in the distance with a stranger. This was her midnight—a new beginning of something…

Something…