Ad copy

Chapter 001 Marilyn’s POV If you had asked me a week ago what the worst thing that could happen at Christmas was, I would’ve said something basic. Like missing the last bus. Or burning the turkey. Maybe getting dumped over text. I would not have said “catching your boyfriend of five years having sex with the woman he swore was his mother.” But here we are. I was smiling when I opened his apartment door. That’s the part that sticks in my head the most. I was still holding the little box of gingerbread cookies I’d baked with my mom’s dented tins, still rehearsing a cheesy speech about how this Christmas could be “our new beginning.” I remember thinking I should’ve worn lipstick. I remember nudging the door with my hip because my hands were full. That was when I heard it. The kind of sound you’re not supposed to hear coming from the person you love. The kind of sound that makes your brain lock up for a second, because it doesn’t fit with the picture you built in your head of them. His voice was low and breathless. And then words that burned themselves into my skull. “She’s nothing, baby. Just a placeholder. She's too dull to go anywhere.” I wish I could say I dropped the cookies in dramatic slow motion, but I didn’t. I just stood there in the doorway like a badly written extra while the universe rewrote my entire life. The woman beneath him—her dark hair spread over his sheets, nails clawing his back—laughed softly, almost indulgently. I’d seen her before, at the café across from campus, at family events. Always with that intense, too-intimate vibe. He told me she was overprotective, that their “mother-son” relationship freaked people out but it was just a cultural thing. I’d tried to believe him. I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that they were… off, but I’d pushed it down. Seeing them naked together removed any room for doubt. He noticed me after a heartbeat too long. For one second, his expression switched, not with shame, but with annoyance, like I had walked in and interrupted an important meeting. “Marilyn,” he said, breathless and shocked. “What are you doing here?” He quickly tried to pull his briefs up and move close to me but his so-called mother dragged him back and placed a kiss on his lips. I think that was when something in me finally snapped. Not in an explosive way, more like a soft, almost silent crack, the way glass fractures when it’s been burning for too long. My throat felt tight. My fingers had gone numb around the cookie box. My first instinct wasn’t to scream or throw something. It was to leave my own body and stand in the corner watching this happen to someone else. Five years of late-night studying, of birthday calls, of carefully rationed kisses because he “didn’t want to rush things,” and this was what he really thought of me. “Dull, placeholder, too dull to leave……” I walked away without looking back, because my soul knew if I stayed one more second, someone was going to jail for murder and it wasn’t going to be him. His voice chased me weakly down the hallway…“Marilyn, wait”—but it didn’t matter. My sight blurred halfway to the elevator. My chest felt like someone had shoved their hands inside and twisted it. By the time the doors closed, the tears started. Ugly crying is not something people warn you about. It’s not cinematic. There is nothing graceful about sobbing so hard your shoulders shake and your nose runs and your breath comes in jagged, embarrassing gasps while some stranger pretends not to stare. I made it back to my tiny apartment on autopilot.. Pack…That was the only thought I could hold onto. Pack and leave. If I stayed, I knew I’d do something stupid like go back and demand an explanation that wouldn’t change anything. My hands weren’t working properly. I threw clothes into my suitcase without checking what they were. Jeans in with pajamas in with bras in with mismatched socks. A half-open bag of candy canes. A sweater that still smelled like coffee and cinnamon. I shoved it all in until I had to sit on the suitcase to close it. When I finally stopped moving, the silence hit me hard. Five years. Had I really been that easy to replace? That easy to lie to? Was I so cheap and truly too dull to go away?” The space between my ribs hurt. I pressed a hand there and dragged in a shaky breath, trying to contain the ache long enough to make a decision. I needed somewhere to go. Somewhere I wouldn’t have to answer questions. Somewhere no one compared me to the glossy, half-dressed woman now taking up residence in the spot where my future used to be. My phone screen swam through my tears. There was only one name that made sense. Thalia. I hit call and sank to the floor with my back against the wall. She answered on the second ring, loud as always. “Why do you sound like a horror movie trailer? What happened?” That was it. No pretending. No easing into it. The sobs tore out of me before I could form words. I tried to speak and only managed broken syllables. “Hey, hey,” she said softly, her usual dramatics dropping away. “Breathe. I’ve got you. You don’t have to make sense yet.” It took a full minute before I could manage a sentence. “I walked in,” I finally choked out, “and he was… with her.” “Her?” “His mum,” I whispered, the word tasting disgusting in my mouth. “The one he said was just… affectionate.” There was a long pause on the other end. Then a very quiet, very dangerous, “Give me his address.” I let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Thalia…” “No, I’m serious. I’m sending men in black. We’re burning his home down. We’re deleting him from this planet. And then we’re taking you to Winterridge.” The word Winterridge slid into my chest like a warm hand. The lodge. Snow. Pines. Fireplaces. The one place in the world that had ever felt too pretty for someone like me, and somehow still let me in every year. “I don’t… I can’t show up like this…” “Shut up,” she said cheerfully. “You’re my best friend. You’re coming to the mountains. I’m not asking. You’ve always said you needed a reason to finally take a break. Well, congratulations. You’ve just been cheated on by a man with the emotional depth of a teaspoon. There’s your sign.” A wet laugh escaped me. “He called me dull,” I murmured. Thalia went quiet again, and when she spoke, there was steel under the humor. “Then this Christmas, we prove him wrong. Pack your bag. I’m sending a car. You’re spending the holidays where people actually know your worth.” The call ended with her promising hot chocolate, ugly sweaters, and “enough sugar to shut up every intrusive thought.” I clung to that image like a lifeline. The drive up to Winterridge felt longer than usual. City lights bled into dark stretches of road. Snow began to appear at the edges of the highway, first as thin dust, then thickening into soft banks that swallowed sound. The farther we got from the familiar skyline, the more my heartbeat slowed from panic to something else. Sadness. Numbness. A bone-deep exhaustion I hadn’t realised I’d been carrying even before today. I pressed my forehead to the cold window and watched the world blur. My reflection stared back—red eyes, blotchy cheeks, hair scraped into a messy knot. I barely recognised myself. Was I really dull? Had I been so focused on holding everything together—work, my mom’s drinking, my grades, my relationship—that I’d forgotten how to actually live? The question sat heavy in my chest. I thought about all the times he’d told me we needed to “take things slow,” how he’d brushed off my attempts at intimacy with gentle excuses. I’d believed him when he said it was about respecting me. Now I knew it was about saving everything for someone else. By the time the car turned onto the long, winding road to Winterridge Lodge, my tears had dried to a tight, prickly feeling behind my eyes. I wasn’t empty, exactly, but I was scraped raw, like there was nothing left to give. The first sight of the lodge still took my breath away. It always did. The building rose out of the snow like something from a postcard—warm light glowing from wide windows, strings of soft golden bulbs lining the eaves, a giant Christmas tree visible through the glass. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and snow fell in slow, fat flakes, drifting in the beams of the exterior lamps. For a moment, standing there in my scuffed boots with my cheap suitcase, I felt like I was about to walk into someone else’s life. The driver carried my bag inside. The heat hit me first, then the smell of pine and cinnamon. Staff I recognised from previous holidays greeted me with kind eyes and gentle smiles. Someone took my coat. Someone else pressed a mug into my hands before I even realised I was shivering. “Miss Marilyn,” one of the older staff members said warmly, “we’re glad you’re here.” The words landed in my chest with unexpected force. Glad I was here. Not tolerating me. Not squeezing me in. They were really glad. I swallowed hard. “Thank you.” “MARILYN!” Someone shouted… Chapter 002 Marilyn POV Thalia’s shout echoed down the grand staircase before I even saw her. Then she appeared, bounding down the last four steps, nearly sliding, her sweater covered in a horrifying mix of reindeer and glitter. She crashed into me, nearly spilling my drink. “Oh my God,” she said into my shoulder, “you look like your soul was mugged. I hate John already.” A laugh escaped me, quick and sharp. “You haven’t even heard the full story.” “Doesn’t matter. He hurt you. Therefore, he is dead to me.” She pulled back to examine my face, her eyes soft. “You okay?” “No,” I said honestly. “But I’m here.” “That’s good enough for now.” She looped her arm through mine. “Come on. I have a room ready, cookies that are mostly edible, and three categories of holiday movies: wholesome, unhinged, and emotionally destructive. You can choose your poison.” She tugged me farther into the lobby. Warmth slowly seeped into my fingers. I could almost feel my heart unclenching, bit by bit. For the first time since I left the city, my thoughts drifted away from my ex. And, annoyingly, toward someone else. Vance Sebastian. I had always been hyper-aware of him when I visited. You couldn’t not be. The man walked into a room and the air pressure changed. He had that quiet, controlled presence that made people straighten, like they were being graded on how efficiently they existed. He was older, obviously. Way older. Thalia’s dad, for God’s sake. CEO of a multinational corporation. The kind of man who wore tailored suits that probably cost more than my rent and always seemed five steps ahead of everyone else. He’d never been unkind. Just distant. Polite in a way that made me feel like I was being filed in his head as “Thalia’s quiet friend from the wrong side of town.” Sometimes he’d ask about school. Once or twice he’d compliment my work ethic. That was it. Still, I’d had the occasional inappropriate thought. I was human. I had eyes. But I’d pushed them down so hard they barely had room to breathe. I definitely wasn’t thinking about him now. Not really. Maybe just a little. Mostly I wanted a hot shower and a day without crying. Thalia squeezed my arm. “By the way, prepare yourself. Dad’s in one of his stormy moods. The board’s been annoying, the markets are annoying, guests are annoying. He’s basically one walking scowl in a sweater.” “Great,” I muttered. “I can match the energy.” She snorted. “Please. Your sad face is cuter.” Her teasing loosened the pressure in my chest. I let her drag me toward the entryway again, still clutching my warm mug. The massive front door swung open behind us, letting in a rush of cold air. A few more guests stepped inside, shaking snow from their coats. Staff hurried to greet them. We turned to move out of the way. That was when I saw him. Vance stood near the doorway, speaking quietly to one of the staff members, coat still open, snow melting in his dark hair. He wasn’t in a suit for once, just a black sweater that fit a little too well and dark slacks, but he still looked intensely, effortlessly expensive. His gaze lifted and landed on me. For a second, I thought he didn’t recognise me. It had been months since I’d seen him in person. But his eyes sharpened, focusing like a camera lens. They dropped quickly to the suitcase at my side, then to my face. Whatever he saw there made something flicker in his expression. He excused the staff member with a tilt of his head and took a step closer. “Mr. Sebastian,” one of the staff murmured, but he barely acknowledged them. His attention was on me. “I…hi,” I croaked, sounding like a dying frog. “Marilyn,” he said, in a steady voice. There was the faintest roughness in the way he said it, like he’d been talking too much or not enough. “You arrived sooner than I expected.” I blinked. “You… expected me?” “Thalia called,” he replied simply. His gaze lingered on my swollen eyes, the redness around my nose, the way my fingers clenched around the mug. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t have to. The ruin on my face probably said enough. “Welcome,” he added after a moment. “You can stay as long as you need.” It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. They invited me every year. It was normal. But tonight, the words felt like a net catching me inches before I crashed. “Thank you,” I managed. Thalia looped her arm tighter through mine, bumping me gently, trying to pull attention away from how fragile I felt. “Dad,” she said lightly, “we’re going to get her settled, and then I’m forcing her to eat cookies and watch terrible movies. You’re allowed to join only if you don’t bring your work voice.” A small smile almost tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone in an instant. “I wouldn’t risk it,” he said. “I’d be outnumbered.” His eyes came back to mine. There was a weight there I wasn’t used to seeing when he looked at me. Not distant courtesy. Not polite tolerance. Something else. I turned away quickly, feeling too exposed. My coat suddenly felt too tight, my sweater too thin. I focused on unzipping, on hanging it on the antique brass hook near the door, pretending my hands weren’t shaking. When I finally pulled it off and turned back… Vance was still there. Still watching me. Not with soft pity or casual curiosity. His gaze was serious, intent, almost… assessing. Too focused for casual concern. Too warm for a man who was supposed to see me as nothing more than his daughter’s friend. My heart gave an unsteady kick. And for the first time since my entire life blew up in a single afternoon, I realised my biggest problem might not be the boy who broke my heart… …but the man standing in front of me, looking at me like I was suddenly very, very hard to ignore. Chapter 003 Marilyn’s POV The next morning, I woke up with that familiar post-cry ache behind my eyes, the kind you get after your life collapses and you pretend to be fine about it. I lay under the thick Winterridge quilt for a minute, letting the room’s soft glow seep into me. The lodge always felt warm at dawn, like the walls themselves were giving little hugs. Which, honestly, I needed. I could still hear Thalia snoring down the hall loudly. So Violent. Slightly concerning. A tiny laugh slipped out before I could stop it. If anything could pull me out of heartbreak, it was Thalia Sebastian’s complete lack of grace while sleeping. A little while later, I showered, changed into the knitted sweater Thalia stuffed into my arms last night “Wear it or I’ll disown you”, and headed downstairs…determined, for once, to pretend I was a functioning human being. The smell of gingerbread hit me the second I reached the first floor. Then I found Thalia in the kitchen, elbow-deep in flour, already yelling. “No, no… the gingerbread family needs diversity, Dad! This is not a dictatorship!” I blinked. Vance, apparently conscripted into cookie-politics, stood across from her, arms crossed, jaw ticking in that “I regret all my life choices” way he mastered. He spared me one slow glance over his shoulder. And that was all it took for my stomach to flutter like an idiot. Ugh. I ignored the warmth bubbling under my skin and walked toward the kitchen island. “Morning,” I said, attempting to sound casual and absolutely failing. Thalia gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, she’s alive. Did crying dehydrate your soul? Should we inject cocoa directly into your bloodstream?” “I’m fine,” I lied. “You're not,” she corrected cheerfully, “but cocoa will fix the illusion.” She thrust a mug into my hands. I didn’t even protest. The first sip almost knocked emotion out of me. It was sweet, warm, rich, exactly what heartbreak therapy should taste like. But then Vance spoke, his voice low enough to send a tiny shiver flickering down my arms. “Did you sleep?” he asked without looking at me, still arranging gingerbread men like they were business assets. His tone wasn’t pushy. Just… aware. “I did,” I said. “A bit.” He nodded once. Barely. But it was enough to feel like acknowledgement, not pity. Thalia clapped her hands. “Alright! Gingerbread showdown. Marilyn, you’re on my team. Dad, try not to cheat.” “I don’t cheat,” he said flatly. “You literally alphabetize your spices. You cheat at life.” He exhaled slowly, the Sebastian version of admitting defeat. I tried to help Thalia with the icing, but the piping bag exploded like it hated me personally, splattering white frosting everywhere. Thalia giggled. “You iced yourself. Iconic.” Vance reached out instinctively and grabbed a towel to wipe my wrist. His fingers brushed my skin, just a light touch but it felt like warm electricity threaded between us. The gentle way he did it, the quiet focus. The furrow in his brow as if he feared hurting me with a paper towel. I froze for half a second. Then he realized what he was doing and pulled back abruptly, towel in his hand, posture stiffening, eyes cutting away. “We need more sugar,” he said, voice clipped. Right. Of course. Sugar. Totally normal to lose balance because your best friend’s father wiped frosting off your wrist. I turned, pretending my heart wasn’t beating like an unhinged drummer. The rest of the morning was one big, chaotic distraction. Thalia made us decorate the enormous lodge tree, a task that turned into fifty percent work and fifty percent arguing about ornament placement. “Dad, stop putting everything in straight lines,” she complained. “It’s a Christmas tree, not a stock portfolio.” “It looks cleaner this way.” “It looks boring. We’re going for whimsical chaos this year.” Vance’s eyes flicked to mine when she said “chaos,” and I could swear a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. Barely there. Almost imaginary. But enough to warm something small inside me. I grabbed a string of lights and tried to detangle them. Tried is the important word. Because those lights, much like my love life, were a complete, unforgiving disaster. I wrestled with them for a few minutes before sighing dramatically. “I think they’re possessed.” Vance appeared beside me, silently, taking the jumbled mess from my hands without a word. How a grown man could untangle twenty feet of Christmas lights in thirty seconds while looking criminally good under fairy lights was beyond me. “There,” he said gently. And I hated that my heart did that thing again, the melting thing. “Thanks,” I managed. He only nodded, but his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. Thalia interrupted with a megaphone she definitely stole from someone. “Attention! Hot chocolate break before Marilyn has a mental breakdown!” I groaned. “I’m fine!” “Denial,” she whispered loudly. “Festive denial.” She dragged me off for cocoa while Vance stayed behind arranging ornaments with the precision of a man solving global crises. By afternoon, the lodge was buzzing. Staff preparing for the weekend guests. Children running around with bells. Someone practicing violin in the music room. Everything is warm, bright, alive. Except my heart, which still felt bruised around the edges. I stepped outside to breathe before I screamed. My phone kept buzzing with his name—call after call, message after message. I didn’t answer. He didn’t deserve even a swipe of my thumb. Snow drifted around the pines, sharp and cold, and I let the wind cool the anger burning under my skin. But even then, my thoughts drifted back to him. Not my ex, he was dead to me, socially and emotionally. But Vance… He kept popping into my head in ways that made me deeply uncomfortable. He’d been gentle this morning. Thoughtful. Attentive in a way that didn’t make sense. I didn’t want to notice that. And my life was too messy for another complication — especially one shaped like a billionaire with quiet eyes and shoulders built like temptation. I promised myself I wouldn’t think about him again. Then I walked inside and immediately walked into him in the hallway. Literally. His chest was a wall of heat and solid muscle, and my forehead collided with it hard enough for me to make an embarrassing noise. His hand came up instinctively, steadying my elbow. “Careful,” he murmured. My breath hitched. His fingers were warm even through the sleeve of my sweater. His cologne — woodsy, clean, snow-sharp, wrapped around me like a memory I hadn’t lived yet. “Sorry,” I breathed, stepping back too quickly. He didn’t move at first. Just watched me with that unreadable look again, quiet, searching, almost like he was trying to understand something he couldn’t name. Then he released my arm. “It’s fine,” he said, voice low. But for several seconds after I walked away, I felt the ghost of his touch like it refused to fade. **** Evening settled over the lodge with warm lights and soft music drifting through the halls. The staff transformed the main lounge into a holiday-themed paradise, garlands, candles, golden ornaments, everything glowing. Thalia forced me into a pair of Rudolph pajamas, complete with antlers. I looked ridiculous. Mortifying. A walking Christmas meme. She squealed in approval. “You look adorable and unhinged. Dad is going to…” “Thalia.” She grinned like the menace she was. “Fine. I’ll stop.” We joined the festivities, laughing with the lodge staff, drinking warm cider, and pretending heartbreak wasn’t chewing holes in my chest. For a moment, I forgot. For a moment, I felt… not broken. Then I turned around. And there he was. Vance. Standing in the doorway like a scene cut straight from a winter romance novel — dark sweater, snowflakes clinging to his hair, eyes sweeping the room until they landed on me. His expression softened. Barely. But enough to flip something in my stomach. I swallowed hard and stepped back. Why did the air feel different when he entered a room? Why did I care? I reminded myself to behave like a person with intact dignity. And then Thalia gasped behind me. “Oh… my… GOD.” I frowned and looked up. And froze. Because hanging right above Vance and me… Was a mistletoe. A perfectly placed, obviously intentional, fate-taunting mistletoe. My heart dropped to my knees. Thalia’s eyes went wide with chaotic excitement. Vance looked at me. I looked at him. And every emotion I’d been trying to ignore all day collided in my chest at once. Thalia whispered loudly enough for the entire lodge to hear… “Well. This just got interesting.” Chapter 004 Marilyn’s POV The thing about being caught under a mistletoe with your best friend’s dad is… there’s no normal reaction. You can’t laugh it off. You can’t kiss him. You definitely can’t pretend you didn’t notice when the entire room collectively stops breathing. For a heartbeat, no one moved. I could hear the music, the clinking glasses, the crackle of the fireplace… but it all felt distant. Blurred. Like the lodge had turned into a snow globe and someone had shaken it too hard. Vance’s gaze lifted slowly toward the mistletoe, then back to me. His expression didn’t give much away, he was too controlled for that, but there was a tightness around his jaw, a flicker of heat in his eyes that made my knees feel suddenly unreliable. Thalia’s grin could have powered the entire mountain. “Well, well, well,” she drawled. “Look at that. Holiday law demands…” “No,” Vance said calmly, without looking at her. My heart did a strange little lurch. Relief and disappointment collided in a confusing mess. Thalia clutched her chest dramatically. “You wound me.” A few guests laughed. Someone called out something about “tradition.” Another voice chimed in about “harmless fun.” The pressure built like static around us. I forced a smile, trying not to look as awkward as I felt. “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “It’s just mistletoe. We can ignore it. Nobody dies.” Thalia rolled her eyes. “You’re both cowards. That’s fine. I’ll find someone else to traumatize.” And just like that, the moment broke. People drifted back into conversations, the music swelled, the spotlight faded. But Vance’s gaze lingered a second longer before he stepped back. “Enjoy the evening,” he said quietly. Then he turned and walked away. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my heart still beating too fast. Thalia nudged me with her elbow. “Did you see your face?” she whispered. “You looked like you’d been hit by a snowplow.” “I’ll throw you into a snowbank,” I muttered. She just laughed, linking my arm through hers and dragging me toward the dessert table. But even as I tried to focus on peppermint bark and sugared cranberries, my mind kept circling back to Vance’s eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the firmness in his voice when he said no — like he wasn’t rejecting me, but something in himself. Unfortunately the universe clearly decided that one awkward moment wasn’t enough embarrassment for a week. Two days later, it gave me Seres Drax. I was in the lobby, arranging a tray of cookies on the coffee table like a responsible almost-adult, when the front doors opened and in walked a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a luxury catalogue. Tall. Impeccably dressed. Dark hair pulled into a sleek, perfect twist. Coat cinched at the waist, heels that definitely weren’t practical for mountain snow. Her lipstick was the kind of rich red that whispered: I don’t make mistakes. “Madam Seres!” one of the staff greeted, clearly surprised but trying to hide it. I froze halfway through setting down a snowman-shaped cookie. So this was her. Thalia had mentioned Seres a few times in passing. The ex-fiancée. The one everyone had been secretly relieved about when the engagement ended. I’d imagined someone intimidating. I hadn’t imagined… this. She looked around the lobby with a quiet, assessing gaze, like she owned at least half the furniture. Then her eyes landed on me. There was a split-second pause. Nothing dramatic. Just the tiniest hitch in her smile before it settled firmly into place, polished and unbothered. “Hello,” she said, voice smooth. “You must be Marilyn.” The fact that she knew my name made my stomach do something unpleasant. “Yeah,” I replied, wiping suddenly sweaty hands on my jeans. “Hi. You’re… Seres.” “Yes.” Her gaze flicked over me quickly, taking in my cozy sweater, messy ponytail, and fuzzy socks. “Thalia’s friend.” Somehow, the way she said it made it sound like a temporary condition. Before I could respond, Vance appeared at the top of the stairs, as if summoned by trouble. “Seres,” he said, surprise clipped short into two syllables as he descended. “I didn’t know you were coming.” She turned toward him with a smile that hit like a spotlight. “I was in the area. I thought I’d drop off a gift. It felt wrong not to acknowledge the season after… everything.” My brain translated: after you broke off our engagement. I suddenly felt like I was standing in a scene I had no right to watch. She moved toward him smoothly, placing a small wrapped box on the entry table and brushing a hand lightly along his sleeve as she passed, casual, familiar, intentional. “Winterridge looks beautiful,” she remarked. “As always. You’ve kept the traditions.” “We try,” he replied. His tone was neutral, but his shoulders were a little tenser than usual. Her gaze slid back to me. “And you have new company,” she said. “How festive.” “She’s been coming for years,” Thalia’s voice cut in as she bounded down the stairs. “Don’t act brand new, Seres.” There was a faint edge to her tone. I made a mental note to buy her something expensive with my non-existent money. Seres just laughed it off, like she was above being offended. “Of course. Marilyn, then. Welcome back.” She said it politely. Warmly, even. But there was a look in her eyes, a quiet calculation, that made my skin prickle. I forced a smile. “Thanks.” She spent the next hour gliding through the lodge like she still belonged to it. Hovering near Vance. Asking about business. Praising how well everything was running. Making casual jokes about “our old routines” and “the way we used to manage holidays together.” Every time she spoke about the past, it felt like a subtle way of reminding anyone watching that she had history here. That once, this might have been her home. Her future. Jealousy isn’t a rational emotion. I had no claim on Vance. He didn’t owe me anything beyond basic kindness. I barely understood what I felt for him myself — it was too new, too fragile, tangled up in grief and gratitude and things I didn’t dare name. But watching Seres stand a breath away from him, touching his arm, laughing softly at his rare, faint smiles? Yeah. That stung. Thalia stayed glued to my side, offering quiet commentary under her breath. “She’s acting like the ghost of Christmas mistakes,” she muttered. “Don’t worry. She may look perfect, but so do department store mannequins.” “She’s very… put together,” I said weakly. “She’s very ‘I read three leadership books and think it gives me a personality,’” Thalia corrected. I snorted, and the ugly knot in my chest loosened a little. Still, every time I caught Vance and Seres alone in a corner, heads bent close, talking softly, I felt that same uncomfortable twist in my stomach. It wasn’t that I thought he wanted her back. There was a distance in his body language, a quiet reserve that didn’t match her easy familiarity. But she fit beside him in a way that made sense. They looked like a matched set. Two sleek, powerful people who understood the language of boardrooms and shareholder meetings. I was the outsider in thrift-store sweaters and emotional damage. Chapter 005 Marilyn POV As if one emotional complication wasn’t enough, the universe decided to throw Silas into the mix. He arrived that afternoon like a walking Christmas card. Dark hair flopping over his forehead, brown eyes warm, scarf wrapped around his neck like he’d stepped out of a winter ad. “THALIA!” he yelled the moment he spotted her in the lounge. She launched herself at him. “Silas! My favorite chaos twin!” They hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Which, to be fair, they hadn’t. “Marilyn!” he added, turning toward me with a grin as bright as the twinkle lights. “You got even prettier. Rude. How am I supposed to keep up?” My face heated. “Hi, Silas.” He’d always been flirty in that harmless, sunshine way, but this time it was… dialed up. He helped me hang ornaments, insisting on lifting me when I couldn’t reach. He complimented my laugh. He told me I deserved a better holiday. At one point, he offered to take me ice-skating in town. “Come on,” he said, bumping my shoulder gently. “You look like you need an excuse to fall dramatically and blame the ice.” “I’d break something,” I replied. “I’d catch you,” he said simply. The words weren’t meant to be serious. I knew that. But they hit somewhere soft anyway. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Vance on the other side of the room, speaking with a staff member. He wasn’t looking at us. Except… he was. In every pause. Every stolen moment. His gaze would flick briefly in our direction, then away again. The muscle in his jaw ticked harder each time Silas made me laugh. When Silas adjusted an ornament above my head by reaching around me, his chest brushing my back lightly, I felt Vance’s attention like a shadow. Thalia, naturally, noticed. “Oh, this is fun,” she whispered later in the hallway while we refilled the snack bowls. “Seres hovering. Silas flirting. Dad pretending he doesn’t want to murder someone. I haven’t seen him this tense since the stock crash.” “I’m not here to be entertainment,” I muttered, but a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “You’re not. But if you accidentally trigger a midlife crisis, I fully support you.” I rolled my eyes and walked toward the kitchen, hoping a quiet minute would calm my thoughts. The kitchen was half-lit, quiet, blessedly calm. A few trays of cookies cooled on the counter. The dishwasher hummed softly. It smelled like sugar and vanilla…comfort in the form of scent. I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and leaned back against the counter, closing my eyes for a second. It was a lot. The betrayal, the lodge, Vance’s unreadable gaze, Seres gliding through rooms like she still belonged everywhere, Silas making me feel seen and wanted in a way I wasn’t sure I deserved yet. My emotions felt like tangled lights again, too knotted to separate, humming with too much energy. The door swung open behind me. I didn’t have to see who it was to know. The air shifted. The steady presence entered before the man did. I opened my eyes. Vance stood a few feet away, the soft kitchen light catching in his hair, his expression a little more unguarded than usual. “Sorry,” I muttered, moving aside. “I didn’t mean to hog the kitchen. I can go.” “You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “It’s a big house. You’re allowed to breathe in it.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Breathing is… work lately.” His eyes softened in a way that felt almost dangerous. “I’ve noticed,” he said. He stepped farther into the room, leaning his hand lightly on the back of a chair. It wasn’t close enough to crowd me, but it wasn’t distant, either. The space between us hummed with a strange sensation neither of us wanted to name. “You seem… uncomfortable,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “With all the activity. The guests. Seres. Silas.” He said their names like they were variables in an equation he was trying to solve. “I’m fine,” I said too quickly. His gaze told me he didn’t buy it. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he replied. “Not here.” Something in my chest squeezed. “It’s just a lot,” I admitted. “Your ex is… very polished. Silas is… very Silas. I feel like the punchline in the middle of some complicated holiday joke.” “You’re not a punchline,” he said, his tone firm. Silence stretched between us, thick as melted chocolate. I swallowed. “Seres seems… close to you.” He studied me for a long moment. “Seres and I have history,” he said finally. “That’s all.” That’s all. The words should have comforted me, but there was something in his voice — a weight, a fatigue — that made them sound like they carried more than he was saying. “And Silas?” he added. I blinked. “What about him?” “He’s very… present.” The slightest trace of dry humor edged his tone. “And very interested.” I stared at him. “Are you… jealous?” The word slipped out before my brain could tackle it to the ground. His jaw tightened. “No,” he said too calmly. “I’m… aware.” It almost made me smile, despite everything. “Aware,” I repeated softly. “Right.” He pushed off the chair and took a step closer, closing some of the distance between us. Only some. Not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough to make my pulse flutter. His voice dropped. “I wanted to check if everything’s fine with the charity itinerary,” he said. “Thalia mentioned you’re helping with some of the outreach. We’ll need to review timing, sponsorship details…” Professional. Totally professional. Except no one talked about scheduling like that, with their eyes dark and their voice low and their body angled just slightly toward mine. I nodded, trying to ignore how my palms had gone clammy. “Sure. Whenever you need. I can help with emails. Calls. Whatever you…” He watched me with such focused intensity that my words tangled and stalled. “Marilyn,” he said softly. Just my name. But the way he said it… careful, roughened at the edges… damn it made my stomach dip. He took one more step, close enough now that I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. “The way you’ve been treated,” he began slowly, “by people who should have known your value… it’s unacceptable. You deserve…” Footsteps sounded in the hallway. He stopped talking mid-sentence, shoulders tensing, expression snapping back into something cooler. The kitchen door swung open and Thalia poked her head in. “There you are!” she said. “We need more trays. Silas is trying to juggle cookies and I think we’re about to have a lawsuit.” Her gaze flicked between us, noticing the distance that was too small, the way we both looked slightly caught. Her brows rose. “Am I interrupting… a spreadsheet meeting?” she asked slowly. Vance stepped back just enough to make it look innocent. “No,” he said smoothly. “We were discussing the charity event.” “Right,” Thalia said, obviously unconvinced. Her eyes danced with mischief. “Well, carry on, you two. But also, don’t, because I need those cookies.” I grabbed the nearest tray just to have something to hold. My heart was beating too fast. My mind was spinning with unfinished words. You deserve…deserve what? To be treated better? To be loved properly? To be looked at the way he’d just been looking at me? Chapter 006 Marilyn’s POV I woke up the next morning with that awful mix of embarrassment and hope tangled in my chest. It was pathetic, downright humiliating—that someone like me could replay a single kitchen conversation the way other people replay wedding proposals. But it stuck with me. The way he said my name, the way he stepped toward me, the way he almost said something he shouldn’t. And just like that everything was gone. The distance, the moment Thalia entered. The wall snapping up between us with cold, practiced ease. By breakfast, the wall had doubled in size. Vance was nowhere in sight. The chair he usually occupied at the head of the table sat empty. A stack of files waited on his place mat like a formal apology for his absence. Thalia slid into the chair beside me, raising a curious brow. “Did he talk to you last night? He looked weird afterward.” Weird? If “weird” meant warm eyes, quiet tension, and nearly confessing something that could bulldoze the entire lodge, then yes. Very weird. I shrugged, poking at my pancakes. “We talked a little.” “What kind of little?” she pressed. “The kind,” I said carefully, “that makes you feel like you misunderstood everything.” She frowned, but before she could prod further, the staff confirmed what I already suspected: Vance had buried himself in “urgent meetings” and “important phone calls.” Because of course he did. Nothing said emotional panic like a middle-aged man hiding behind a stack of documents. By noon, the atmosphere in my chest was as gray as the snow outside. I knew I shouldn’t expect anything. I knew I shouldn’t let last night twist me into knots. But there’s something uniquely painful about thinking someone might feel something too… only for them to vanish the next day. Thalia snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Okay, this is depressing. Grab your coat. We’re going out.” “I don’t want to go out,” I muttered. “Well, too bad,” she said brightly. “I do, and you’re my emotional support disaster.” Before I could argue, she tugged me out the door, wrapped me in a scarf, and marched me into town like a woman on a mission. The small downtown area looked like it was auditioning for a holiday movie. Lights wrapped around every lamppost. Wreaths hung from store windows. A band played soft carols near the bakery. “See?” Thalia said, handing me a steaming cup of hot cider. “Healing.” I sipped it reluctantly. “This tastes like cinnamon and lies.” “It tastes like joy,” she corrected. We wandered through stores, touching ornaments, trying on fluffy earmuffs, teasing each other about hideous sweaters. For a little while, I almost forgot everything weighing me down. But my thoughts kept drifting back to Vance. His silence felt heavier with each hour. His sudden distance felt louder than any conversation. And the worst part? I couldn’t tell Thalia the truth. Because how do you tell your best friend you might be developing feelings for her father? When we finally returned to the lodge, the world had shifted. A snowstorm raged outside—thick, violent, wind slapping against the windows like an angry hand. The entire mountain seemed to hum with it. Inside, the lights flickered… once… twice… then half the hallway went dark. Thalia groaned. “Great. Storm season has entered the chat. My dad’s going to lose his mind.” I laughed softly, but a strange, nervous coldness crept into me as I walked toward my room. The hallway lights sputtered again before fading, leaving me standing in a long stretch of dim shadows. “Perfect,” I whispered. I fumbled along the wall, searching for my door. My phone battery was dead—of course—and the lodge halls felt strangely unfamiliar in the dark. The storm rattled the windows, and the cold air seeped through the cracks like fingers. Then a soft beam of light swept across the wall. “Marilyn?” His voice. My stomach dropped, fluttered, twisted—everything happened all at once. Vance stood a few steps behind me, flashlight in hand, expression tight with concern. “You okay?” he asked. “I’m fine,” I lied. “Just… lost. Apparently I can’t navigate hallways without electricity.” He stepped closer, the glow catching on his hair, making him look softer—less like the distant billionaire mogul he is, and more like the man who told me I deserved better last night. “You’re cold,” he murmured, noticing the way I hugged my arms. “It’s freezing,” I admitted. He nodded once. “Come on. The den still has the fireplace going.” He didn’t touch me. He didn’t offer his arm. But he stayed close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him as the storm howled outside. The den was lit only by the flickering fire. It was warm, so soft and quiet. He set the flashlight aside and moved toward the hearth, checking the logs, adjusting the flames. His broad shoulders were outlined in firelight, the glow brushing along the edges of his jaw. And suddenly, with the storm outside and the crackling warmth inside… everything felt too intimate. Too easy to fall into. “I’m sorry about today,” he said at last, still facing the fire. My breath caught. “You don’t have to be.” “I do.” He straightened slowly, turning toward me. “I didn’t mean to make you feel… dismissed.” The honesty in his voice nearly knocked me down. “I didn’t think you dismissed me,” I whispered. “I thought I imagined everything.” His eyes softened, the wall he’d built all morning cracking just slightly. “You didn’t imagine anything,” he said quietly. Silence wrapped around us like a blanket. The storm outside, the fire crackling, the heavy warmth in his voice. It was too much. “Then why did you avoid me?” I managed. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he ran a hand down his face, looking more human than I’d ever seen him. “Because I didn’t trust myself,” he admitted. “I didn’t like how easy it was to forget where the lines are.” My heartbeat stumbled. Lines. Boundaries. Rules that shouldn’t be broken. My throat tightened. “I feel stupid for… caring.” His brows drew together. “You shouldn’t.” “I do.” My voice cracked, raw and vulnerable. “I feel unwanted. Like I’m the only one who felt something and now I look ridiculous.” A look of uncertainty flashed across his features. It felt like pain, regret, restraint all tangled into one. He stepped closer. Slowly. Like approaching a frightened animal. “You are not unwanted,” he said softly. “You are the opposite of unwanted.” My breath hitched. The flames behind him blurred. My eyes stung, my chest clenched. I didn’t cry—not the way I cried over my ex, or my mother, or the loneliness I pretended didn’t exist. This was different. A release I wasn’t expecting. He sat beside me on the rug, close but careful. Not touching. Just offering presence. Just offering warmth. And for once, I didn’t try to hold myself together. I let my head fall, let my shoulders shake once—just once—before I forced myself to breathe again. “You’re allowed to feel vulnerable,” he murmured. The gentleness undid me more than any harshness ever could have. We sat for minutes. Or hours. I couldn’t tell. Eventually, exhaustion crept in, heavily. My body leaned before my mind could stop it—leaned right into the solid comfort of his shoulder. I expected him to pull away. He didn’t. He went still… then slowly, carefully, relaxed. His shoulder remained beneath my cheek. His breath slowed. His body warmed mine. I didn’t mean to drift off. I didn’t mean to trust him like this. But the fire crackled, and the storm softened, and his presence felt too safe. My eyes closed. And just as sleep tugged me under, I felt him exhale. Not as if he was irritated or distant. But it felt like he was letting go and surrendering to me. I fell asleep against his shoulder… and Vance didn’t move away.