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The candlelight flickered across Christopher's face as he reached into his jacket pocket, and for a moment, my heart stopped. Seven years. Seven years of birthdays, anniversaries, quiet Sunday mornings, and shared dreams. Tonight felt different—charged with the kind of anticipation that makes your skin tingle. "Bella, I—" Christopher's words were cut short by the sharp trill of his phone. His face went pale as he glanced at the screen. "Sylvie." The name hit me like ice water. Sylvie Wagner. Christopher's childhood friend who had taken a knife for him during a mugging years ago. The woman who had just returned from studying abroad last