Luna Wren POV

The steady hum of the car engine filled the space between us as we sped down the highway. Outside, bare tree branches stretched upward like skeletal fingers against the overcast sky, and the occasional flurry of snow danced in the wind. My dad had insisted we leave early, even though our flight wasn't until late afternoon. "Better early than cutting it close," he'd said, his usual mantra.

I sat in the back seat, watching the scenery blur past in shades of gray and white, a stark contrast to the vibrant autumn hues we'd left behind weeks ago. My legs were tucked beneath me, a fleece blanket draped over my lap for warmth. The scent of coffee lingered faintly in the air from the thermos my dad had grabbed before we left.

"Excited for Lapland?" my dad asked, breaking the silence. His tone was chipper, but the question felt like it carried more weight than it should have.

I glanced up, catching his eyes in the rearview mirror. The corners of his mouth were quirked in a hopeful smile, but his expression seemed strained, like he already knew my answer.

"Sure," I said, my voice flat. I didn't need to look at him to know he'd caught the sarcasm.

He sighed, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in rhythm with the song playing softly through the speakers. "You used to love these trips. Remember the first time you went skiing? You begged me to stay out on the slopes until the sun went down. I had to bribe you with hot chocolate just to get you inside."

I stared out the window, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. When I was younger. The phrase always hit a nerve. It wasn't just the memories he described—it was the fact that I couldn't remember them myself.

Four years ago, when I was fourteen, I'd been in a car accident that left me with a severe head injury. Weeks in a coma had wiped out much of my memory, leaving me with fragments of a past I couldn't fully piece together. The accident itself was a mystery. All I knew was what my parents told me: I'd been riding with them when we lost control on an icy road.

But certain things didn't add up. Like the gaps they couldn't—or wouldn't—explain. The people I was supposed to know but didn't. The family we used to travel with, who suddenly stopped showing up after the accident.

"Luna," my dad said gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

"What?" I asked, blinking.

"I know these trips aren't your favorite anymore, but try to have fun, okay? You've got to admit, it's a beautiful place."

I nodded, not trusting myself to respond. It wasn't the location that bothered me—it was the people. The Wellingtons and their endless superiority complex. A week of pretending to enjoy their company felt more like a chore than a vacation.

The airport loomed ahead, a stark gray structure against the dull winter sky. My dad pulled into the drop-off lane, maneuvering the car into a spot near the curb. "I'll grab the bags," he said, already stepping out into the biting cold.

I climbed out after him, the wind slicing through my coat as I adjusted my scarf. The cold was sharper here, somehow more aggressive than back home. I shoved my hands into my pockets and followed my dad toward the entrance, wheeling my suitcase behind me.

Inside, the terminal buzzed with the chaotic energy of holiday travel. Families with restless kids, businesspeople glued to their phones, couples bickering over itineraries—it was all there, a snapshot of humanity in motion.

My dad moved through the crowds like a seasoned traveler, navigating the lines and check-in counters with ease. I trailed after him, barely registering the polite smiles of airline staff as they checked our tickets and passports.

By the time we reached security, I was already exhausted. I kicked off my boots, shoved my bag onto the conveyor belt, and walked through the scanner, my movements robotic. The entire process felt like a well-rehearsed dance, one I'd been forced to learn over years of these trips.

Once through, we found a quiet corner near our gate. My dad handed me a bottle of water and a pack of trail mix from one of the overpriced kiosks. "Thought you might be hungry," he said.

I took them without a word, sinking into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. My dad busied himself with emails on his phone, leaving me to my thoughts.

The announcement for boarding came sooner than I expected. We were flying first class—a slight downgrade from the private jet we used to take before it mysteriously "needed replacing." Still, the plush leather seats and extra legroom were a far cry from the cramped economy rows I'd seen on TV.

The flight attendants greeted us warmly as we boarded, their smiles practiced and polite. I settled into my seat, tucking my blanket around me as I adjusted the seat controls. My dad sat across the aisle, already flipping through the in-flight menu.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I stared out the window, watching the ground fall away as we ascended into the clouds. The turbulence was mild at first, but every slight jolt made my heart race. Flying wasn't my favorite thing, but I'd learned to tolerate it over the years.

Hours passed in a haze of movies, music, and half-hearted attempts to read the novel I'd packed. I picked at the in-flight meal, the flavors bland and unremarkable, and tried to ignore the aching stiffness in my legs.

By the time we landed, the world outside the window was a frozen wonderland. Snow blanketed the ground, and the sharp, icy air hit me the moment we stepped off the plane and into the jet bridge.

Another car was waiting for us outside the terminal, its windows frosted over. The drive to the house was quiet, the only sounds were the crunch of tires on snow and the occasional creak of the car's heater. I watched the trees blur past, their branches heavy with snow, and tried to imagine what this week would bring.

When we finally pulled up to the house, I couldn't deny how beautiful it was. Warm light spilled from the windows, illuminating the wooden beams and frosted railings. The sight was almost enough to make me forget why I didn't want to be here.

Almost.

I stepped out of the car, the cold air immediately biting at my cheeks. My boots crunched on the frozen ground as I glanced up at the grand lodge, its tall windows glowing with the light of a crackling fire inside. The Wellingtons' car was parked just ahead, its sleek black exterior already dusted with snow.

The front door swung open before we even reached it, and Helena Wellington appeared, impeccably dressed as always. Her coat was lined with fur, her lips painted a bold red, and her smile was dazzling enough to belong on a magazine cover.

"Luna, darling!" she called, stepping out onto the porch with her arms outstretched. "Welcome back! How was the drive?"

I forced a polite smile as I stepped into her embrace. She smelled like expensive perfume—something floral and sharp. Her hug was warm, but there was a certain precision to it, as though she had rehearsed the perfect amount of enthusiasm.

"It was fine, thank you," I replied softly.

"Oh, I'm sure it was dreadful. All that snow," she said with a laugh, stepping back to greet my dad. "Come in, come in. You'll freeze out here!"

I followed them into the lodge, the warmth of the interior washing over me instantly. The Wellingtons always had a way of making luxury feel effortless, and this place was no exception. The centerpiece of the main room was a massive stone fireplace, the flames dancing wildly inside and casting a golden glow over the polished wood floors. Above it hung a wrought-iron chandelier that gave the space a rustic, elegant charm.

As Dad exchanged pleasantries with Helena, I let my eyes wander, taking in the details I'd missed the last time we stayed here. The large windows framed the snow-covered forest like a painting, and the air smelled faintly of cedar and cinnamon. My gaze drifted toward the staircase—and then froze.

He was standing there, leaning casually against the banister, like he'd been waiting. Julian Wellington.

My heart stumbled in my chest as his piercing gaze met mine. His dark hair was slightly mussed, as though he hadn't bothered to tame it after stepping inside, and the firelight cast sharp shadows over his jawline.

Two nights ago, I'd kissed that face. Or, more accurately, he'd kissed me—on the balcony, under the icy stars, with nothing but the sound of the wind between us. It had been brief but overwhelming, and I'd thought about it far too much since then.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I quickly averted my gaze, hoping he hadn't noticed. But of course, Julian noticed everything.

"Luna," he said, his voice smooth and low. "Welcome back."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes again. "Hi, Julian."

He straightened, his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "How was the drive?"

"It was fine," I said, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter.

"Julian," Helena interjected with a light laugh, "don't overwhelm her the second she walks in. Luna's probably exhausted after the trip."

"Of course," he replied smoothly, though the glint in his eye said otherwise. "Your room's ready upstairs. You probably want to settle in before dinner."

"Thank you," I mumbled, brushing past him and heading for the staircase.

As I climbed, I could feel his eyes on me, which only made the blush in my cheeks deepen. I told myself not to think about the kiss or the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long—or the strange warning I'd received two nights ago from a man I'd never seen before. His voice still echoed in my mind: Not everyone has good intentions.

I shook off the thought as I reached the top of the stairs and made my way to the end of the hall. My room was the last one on the left, the door slightly ajar.

When I stepped inside, I couldn't help but pause.

The room was breathtaking. A large bed sat in the center, its frame upholstered in soft white fabric and piled high with fluffy pillows and a thick fur throw. The floor was covered in a plush white rug that felt impossibly soft under my boots. To one side, a sitting area with two armchairs and a small table faced a massive window that overlooked the snowy forest outside.

Above the bed hung a framed black-and-white photograph of snow-covered trees, perfectly matching the serene ambiance of the room. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, their natural texture grounding the otherwise pristine decor.

I set my suitcase down and crossed to the window, pulling back the heavy white curtains. The view was stunning: endless trees stretching toward the horizon, their branches heavy with snow. In the distance, I could just make out the faint glow of the northern lights, their colors shimmering faintly against the darkening sky.

With a sigh, I turned back to the room and began unpacking. My fingers brushed over the soft fur throw as I laid my coat on the bed. Everything about this space was perfect—too perfect, almost, like it belonged to a life that wasn't mine.

As I placed the last of my things into the wardrobe, I sat down on the edge of the bed and let myself sink into the comfort of it. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warmth seeping into the room, but I still couldn't shake the unease that had settled in my chest.

I thought about Julian's gaze, the way it had lingered on me as I passed him. And then, the man's warning.

Not everyone has good intentions.

Wrapping the fur throw around my shoulders, I lay back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling beams. I wasn't sure who—or what—I was supposed to be wary of, but one thing was certain: sleep wasn't going to come easily tonight.

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Hello!! I apologize for the super short chap but the next will be extra long and a lot more interesting this was more of a filler!!

I hope you enjoy it though anyways!!

Ohhh and sorry for not updating in a whileee!!

I love you all bye!!💗- Willow