Class today was an exercise in frustration.

Everyone is entitled to their own interpretation of literary works—I knew this. Usually, I enjoyed the discourse and varied perspectives, but today? Today was different.

The lecturer's interpretation of Austen's Pride and Prejudice —one of my favourite novels—felt like a personal affront. She dismissed alternative viewpoints with a condescending certainty, reducing the book to a dry historical artefact, unintentionally funny only by modern standards. But I knew—knew—it was a comedy of manners, a witty critique of social conventions.

No one in the class backed me up. Not one person. I tried to remind myself it wasn't personal, but after years of rereading and analysing the novel, it stung. It felt like watching someone butcher a dear friend.

To top it off, my supervisor had emailed me about a project rewrite. "We like what you've done," they said, "but the author wants to take the story in a different direction. Could you rework this major plot point—and all the subsequent chapters?"

Translation: rewrite half the book.

Fifty thousand words of effort undone. I'd still get paid, sure, but it hurt all the same. Today was officially a disaster.

Mary and James had finally talked me into going back to the Haven tonight. They were hosting a pub quiz to celebrate the bar's new liquor license. The Haven had always been cosy and welcoming, but I worried the addition of alcohol might change things. Students near any place that served drinks could turn things rowdy fast. Only time would tell.

Alaskan winters demanded skill in dressing warmly while still looking good. The trick was layering. Tonight, I wanted to feel nice—pretty, even—so I chose a black halter dress that showed a little back and just enough cleavage. Underneath, I wore warm leggings and my favourite mocha-brown knee-high boots with flat soles—essential for icy streets.

A few strokes of mascara, eyeliner, and a swipe of lipstick completed the look. To brave the cold, I grabbed my midnight-blue pea coat. It was the most expensive piece of clothing I owned, and I credited it with getting me my current job. Lucky coat.

I walked the few doors to Mary's apartment, knocked twice, and waited. A muffled crash and a curse preceded her opening the door, her cheeks flushed and hair slightly mussed.

"Damn, B," she said, giving me an exaggerated once-over. "You're looking hot. Trying to get lucky tonight?"

I pretended to shake a Magic 8-Ball and deadpanned, "Outlook not so good."

She snorted, stepping aside to let me in. "Seriously, though, am I underdressed?"

"It's the Haven," I reassured her. "If anything, I'm overdressed."

The bar was unusually busy for a weeknight. The grand opening of the liquor service had drawn a larger-than-usual crowd, but the atmosphere remained lively and warm. Indie music played softly overhead, blending seamlessly with the hum of conversation.

James had already abandoned us to chat up some poor unsuspecting handsome brunette at the bar, leaving Mary and me to claim a booth. I filled out our team roster, chewing on the end of the pen as I stared at the blank space for our team name.

I tapped the pen against my lips, glancing around—and then I saw them.

Or more precisely, her.

They stood near a high table in the corner, chatting easily. Carmen and Eleazar, if James had identified them correctly. Beside them was another blonde, platinum and striking, her beauty polished and mature—a stark contrast to Rosalie's youthful, frozen-at-seventeen glow.

But it was the last blonde who caught my attention.

Her hair was swept back into a tight, intricate Viking braid, accentuating her sharp features. I told myself to look away, to focus on something—anything—else. But my eyes refused to obey.

Then she turned.

And our eyes met.

Her gaze pinned me in place, black as onyx and utterly consuming. The fluttery feeling bloomed in my chest, spreading until it was overwhelming, unbearable. My nerves were thrumming as an unfamiliar heat coursed through me, pooling low in my stomach.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

The world dimmed. Narrowed.

For a single, endless moment, it was just her.

And then—

A burst of warmth, golden and radiant, flooding me from the inside out. Marrow, bones, blood, skin—everything felt renewed, whole, and vibrant.

I came back to myself in a rush, the noise of the bar crashing back in. She was still staring at me, her expression now soft and open, her eyes now golden, shimmering like sunlight on water.

I sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly, tearing my gaze away like it burned. My pulse thundered in my ears.

Pretending my existence hadn't just changed in a single moment.

Mary returned to the table with a tray of drinks, her voice animated. Completely oblivious to my existential crisis.

"Okay, so I had this idea about taking a shot every time we get a question wrong—"

I grabbed two tequila shots and downed them in quick succession before she even finished the sentence.

"Wow, girl, get it!" Mary squealed, bumping my hip.

I gave her a tight-lipped smile, then immediately followed it with a large sip of cider, hoping the warmth would settle whatever had just happened inside me.

She took her shots more leisurely, savouring the salt, tequila, and lime.

"Cheers."

We clinked our mugs of cider, and I took another large sip.

I could still feel her watching me.

I didn't have to look to know.

But I did.

A quick glance—just to confirm—and there she was, still looking, her golden eyes burning in the dim light, like liquid amber catching fire.

I forced myself to focus on anything else. The quiz. The warmth of the cider. James's exaggerated retelling of his latest dating misadventure.

And yet, despite my best efforts, I could still feel her.

Halfway through the quiz, they called for a break. I took the opportunity to escape. The bar's atmosphere was cosy and buzzing, but the warmth felt stifling, and I needed to breathe. The cool night air greeted me like a balm as I pushed through the door, the soft chime of bells echoing behind me.

A public bench sat beside the building, its wooden slats free of snow but cold to the touch. I sank onto it, leaning back, closing my eyes as the world slowed. The muffled hum of conversation and laughter from inside faded into the background, leaving only the sound of my breath and the crisp night.

I took a deep breath, the icy air cutting through the lingering warmth of the bar. My chest felt tight, not with cold but with a kind of pressure I couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was… everything else.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

The voice, soft and accented, broke the fragile quiet. My eyes shot open, and there she was.

She stood before me like she belonged to the night itself, her silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the bar's light. Tight black jeans hugged her form, and a maroon coat draped over her frame like something out of a winter fashion shoot. The contrast of the deep red against her golden hair and pale skin made her seem otherworldly, a vision I couldn't quite reconcile as real.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Her lips were curved into a bow of soft pink, her high cheekbones catching the light with a regal kind of poise. And then there were her eyes—deep pools of shimmering onyx that held an intensity no mortal had the right to possess. They weren't just looking at me; they were seeing me, peeling back layers I didn't know existed.

She smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. "You looked like you could use some company," she said, her voice warm and lilting, like a song that was somehow familiar.

I sat up straighter, as if her presence demanded it. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure she could hear it. "I'm fine," I said quickly, the words clipped and unconvincing. I tore my gaze away, focusing on a patch of snow on the ground. "Just needed some air."

She hummed, a low, melodic sound that vibrated through me. "The air is better out here, isn't it? Crisp, clean… honest."

Before I could respond, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bench with a kind of grace that made the simple action look like a performance. She didn't crowd me, but her presence filled the space all the same. "Although I must say," she added, her voice teasing, "it's not nearly as interesting as the company inside. Or out here."

I let out a soft, shaky laugh, hoping it masked how unnerved I felt. "If you're looking for riveting company, I'm afraid I'm not much of a conversationalist tonight."

Her smile widened, a hint of mischief flickering in her golden eyes. "Sometimes words are overrated."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward, but it was charged. She didn't push, didn't pry, but her gaze lingered, and I felt as though she was pulling something out of me without saying a word.

"I'm Tanya," she said finally, extending a hand.

I hesitated. For a split second, I considered ignoring the gesture entirely, but something about the way she said her name—like it carried weight—made me relent. "Bella," I replied, taking her hand. It was as cold as I expected, but the spark it sent up my arm was not. My breath hitched, and I pulled back instinctively.

Her smile softened, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter, almost reverent. "Bella," she repeated, as though tasting the name on her tongue. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching mine. "It suits you."

"Does it?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but the warmth in my cheeks betrayed me.

"Mm," she murmured, leaning back slightly, her posture impossibly relaxed. "Strong. Unassuming. But with a hidden fire."

I snorted softly, more out of nerves than anything else. "You get all that from a name?"

"I get that from you," she corrected, her gaze steady, unflinching. "It's fascinating."

I looked away, swallowing hard. "Well, I don't think I'm as fascinating as you seem to think."

"You'd be surprised," she said, her voice low and almost conspiratorial. There was a flicker of something behind her eyes, something unspoken but heavy with meaning. "Sometimes, what we see in others says more about ourselves."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. She wasn't just beautiful—she was overwhelming, in a way that felt both exhilarating and suffocating.

I stood abruptly, needing space, needing to breathe. "I should get back inside," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "My friends are waiting."

Tanya rose as well, her movements as fluid as water. "Of course," she said lightly, though her eyes didn't waver from mine. "But don't be a stranger, Bella."

The way she said my name sent a shiver down my spine. As I walked back toward the bar, I could feel her watching me, her presence a weight that pressed against my back even after I stepped inside.

The warmth of the bar felt cloying compared to the crispness of the night, but it was the memory of her smile—and the way she said my name—that left me reeling.

As James and Mary argued over which bar we should hit next, I sat quietly, nursing what little cider remained in my mug. My mind refused to settle. Tanya's golden eyes, her playful yet knowing smile, and that electrifying pull between us… it was overwhelming.

I thought I had left all of this behind—this world of secrets, danger, and impossibilities. The Cullens were a chapter I'd closed, sealed tightly, promising myself I'd never revisit. And yet, here I was, drawn toward the very thing I'd sworn to avoid.

What was it about her that stirred something in me? A yearning I didn't understand, tangled with fear. She wasn't just magnetic—she was a reminder of everything I'd fought to leave behind. Of a life that nearly broke me.

And yet, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

"Earth to Bella," Mary said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You're super spacey tonight. Sure you're okay?"

I forced a smile, even as my chest felt heavy with the weight of questions I couldn't answer. "Yeah, just tired. Let's go."

As we walked out of the bar, James and Mary teasing each other over some pop culture trivia question, I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting Tanya to reappear from the shadows. She didn't, but the thought lingered.

Because deep down, I knew this wasn't over. And I wasn't sure if I wanted it to be.