A DANGEROUS CHRISTMAS ROMANCE

Sebastian Volkov hated Christmas.He hated the lights, the forced cheer, the jingling music that followed him like a stalker, and most of all, he hated the way the holiday reminded him of everything he had lost.The only reason he was currently stepping out of a black SUV into a snow-covered luxury lodge in Aspen was tugging on his gloved hand.“Daddy,” Noelle Volkov said, her tiny boots crunching happily against the snow. “Is this where Santa lives?”Sebastian looked down at his six-year-old daughter—wide-eyed, red-cheeked, bundled up like a walking marshmallow—and sighed.“No,” he said flatly. “Santa is a myth.”Noelle gasped. Loudly. Dramatically. Like a child who had just discovered betrayal on a global scale.“You promised,” she accused, pointing an accusing mitten at him. “You said Christmas would be magical this year.”Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose.“I said we’d go somewhere cold,” he corrected. “And safe.”Safe. That was the key word.Aspen was neutral territory. No

The crack of gunfire echoed across the snow-covered lodge grounds, splitting the serene morning like a lightning bolt. Sebastian Volkov barely had time to register the sound before instinct took over. He shoved Noelle to the ground behind a decorative ice sculpture shaped like a reindeer. Snow sprayed into the air as she landed with an undignified “oof.”“Daddy!” she shrieked. “What’s happening?”“Stay down,” Sebastian growled, rolling over to cover her. His eyes darted to Nyra, who was already scanning the perimeter, a small pistol in hand—tenser than anyone should ever be before breakfast.“You always bring a gun to coffee?” Sebastian asked, his voice low, tight, but almost amused.Nyra’s lips curved slightly. “You really shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”He scowled. “I want the answer.”“You wouldn’t like it,” she said, snapping off a shot that sent a ricochet over the snow. “Besides, my coffee is stronger than your coffee.”Sebastian stared. Somehow, she’d mad

Sebastian Volkov sat in the lodge office, eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his phone. The message from earlier wasn’t just a warning—it was a challenge. Whoever was behind it knew he was in Aspen, knew about the neutral ground rules, and was daring him to slip.“This Christmas, you won't get away.”He scowled. His instincts screamed danger. His rational brain screamed danger squared. And yet, a small, exasperated voice interrupted him:“Daddy!”He looked up. Noelle was standing in the doorway, clutching a stuffed reindeer that looked far too big for her arms. Snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes like tiny sparkles.“Yes, Noelle?” he asked, trying to sound calm while calculating which exit led to the least danger.“I… I think we need a plan,” she said seriously. “For Snowtopia.”Sebastian blinked. “…Snowtopia?”“No, you don’t get it,” she said, stepping forward. “The threat. The bad people. The snowstorm. It’s all connected! We need strategies!”Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose

For one second, neither of them moved.The empty room seemed unreal, as if Noelle might suddenly appear from behind the curtains laughing at her own joke.But the overturned chair near the fireplace said otherwise.One of the curtains had been pulled halfway down, and beside the window, a small red mitten lay on the floor.Noelle’s mitten.Sebastian crossed the room in two strides and picked it up.His hand closed around it so tightly that his knuckles whitened.Nyra watched him carefully. His face had gone still in a way that was more alarming than anger.“Sebastian,” she said quietly.He didn’t answer.The silence around him felt sharp enough to cut.Then he lifted his phone again and reread the message.Midnight mass wasn’t the event. It was the invitation.He inhaled once, slowly.When he finally spoke, his voice was frighteningly calm.“They had people inside before the shooting began.”Nyra moved toward the window. Outside, snow fell harder now, thick white sheets swallowing the

Morning came slowly, hidden behind thick clouds and relentless snow.The lodge looked peaceful from the outside again—white rooftops, silent trees, smoke rising from chimneys—but inside, no one believed in peace anymore.Security had doubled.Every entrance was watched.Every guest had been quietly moved to the lower wing under the excuse of storm safety, though fear had already spread enough that nobody questioned the sudden rules.Sebastian had not slept.Nyra knew because she had not slept either.At dawn, she found him in the main hall, standing near the tall windows, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cup of coffee he had not touched.The Christmas tree lights reflected faintly across the glass beside him.He looked as if he belonged nowhere near warmth.“You should at least pretend to drink it,” Nyra said as she approached.Without turning, he replied, “You should stop walking silently.”“I wasn’t walking silently. You were thinking too loudly.”That made him glance at