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Every night, when the city slept, she received a mysterious visitor. A lover whose identity remained hidden in the shadows, as dictated by that cryptic poem she once found slipped under her door.
In secret she had to love him, for social conventions condemned them. He was an outsider with a dark past, and she, the heiress of a prominent family. An impossible romance under the accusing eyes of the world.
Their encounters were fleeting but passionate. He would arrive as stealthy as the wind, leaving his manly aroma impregnated in the disheveled sheets. Then he would leave before dawn, disappearing like a shadow into the alleys.
No one was to see them together, no one was to know. Their love was a secret beyond laws and gossip. A delicious agony that fed on stifled sighs and clandestine caresses.
Over time, the curiosity became unbearable. She needed to know the face of the man who idolized her in verses of overflowing passion. One night, determined to put an end to the mystery, she lit a candle as she watched him leave.
But the flame could not illuminate more than a faint gleam in the gloom. All she could make out were his intriguing eyes, two burning embers that watched her longingly before disappearing into the darkness again.
Her lover was an enigma, and she was doomed to solve it or die trying. For a love so hidden and intense could not be without an explanation.