Chapter 17
Mia
For the first time in days, I let myself breathe. The spa is warm and softly lit, the air scented with eucalyptus and lavender. I peel off my clothes and slip into a thick robe, padding across heated tiles until I reach the private treatment room Mr. Beattie arranged for me.
To my surprise, one of the older employees—Greta, I think—spots me and does a double take. “Miss Mia! Haven’t seen you here since you were a teenager. What are you doing hiding away on such a busy weekend?”
I smile genuinely. “Just needed a break.”
“Beattie told me he was sending a special guest my way, but I had no idea it would be you.” She hugs me warmly. “I’ll take care of you.”
I sigh. “Can it be quick? I need to be somewhere else.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “You’re here now, and you look very sad.”
I look away. She doesn’t know the half of it, and I don’t know where to start.
She grins and disappears, returning with a tray. “Try this. It’ll help you relax.” The drink is a pale golden color, chilled and fragrant. I take a cautious sip—sweet, with a zing of something herbal—and suddenly my whole body feels lighter, my limbs loose, my head a little floaty.
I giggle. “What did you put in this, Greta?”
She winks. “Spa secret. If I told you, I’d have to make you work here forever.” She begins prepping the massage table, fluffing towels and dimming the lights.
I look around. “There are fewer guests this season. I mean, apart from the wedding guests.”
Greta sighs. “Less and less every season, miss.”
I frown. I had no idea, and my dad never gave any indication that business in the lodge was declining.
Despite myself, I settle in and let the warmth seep into my bones. The music is soft, the sheets cool and crisp, the massage slow and thorough. I close my eyes, giggling again as whatever was in that drink works its magic.
For a blissful stretch of time, I don’t think about Sarah or Jason or the wedding. I don’t think about anything at all except how good it feels to be taken care of.
I’m half-asleep, face down on the table, the soft music drifting through the room, when I hear voices outside the door.
The unmistakable sound of Sarah’s laugh rings out, and I freeze, going still.
I frown, surprised—I thought they’d be at the rehearsal dinner right now.
She must be here for a treatment, and from what I hear, she’s not alone.
One of the bridesmaids sighs and says, “Well, I guess there’s no point hanging around in the ballroom if Jason’s not feeling up to it.”
“That’s just an excuse,” someone else says. “He’s upset about the desserts, you know? He was embarrassed, and felt humiliated.”
Another one of them sighs. “Honestly, I don’t know how Sarah puts up with Mia’s drama. Some people just have to be the center of attention.”
Another pipes up, “You think she ruined the dinner on purpose? She’s always been a bit…jealous.”
My cheeks burn, even though they can’t see me. I listen for Sarah, hoping she’ll defend me, but she says nothing. There’s a clink of glasses and another round of laughter.
I feel hollow. Hurt and small. It’s one thing for strangers to judge me, but hearing Sarah just let it happen? That stings deeper than I want to admit.
I hear someone mention “refills” and realize they’re drinking. An idea takes shape—bold, maybe a little reckless, but I need to talk to Sarah face-to-face, and get her away from the rest.
Greta returns, quietly closing the door behind her. “You’re still awake?” she teases.
“What’s Sarah getting done out there?” I ask.
“What? The bride?” Greta glances at her notes. “Pedicure and manicure, with her friends. It’s a madhouse.”
I sit up a bit, towel clutched to my chest. An idea flickers. “Greta, can you do Sarah’s manicure? I know you’re supposed to stay with me, but…I just need you to be within earshot. She gets pretty chatty when she’s had a few drinks, and there are some things I need to know.”
Greta raises an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to take care of you, not eavesdrop for you.”
I give her my best pleading smile. “Please? Just this once. If you can work on her nails, maybe ask her a few questions, see if she says anything. She opens up when she’s tipsy.”
Greta sighs but relents, picking up her tray. “What should I ask?”
I take a deep breath. “Ask her about Jason, her groom-to-be, how she’s feeling, if she’s nervous.”
She agrees, leaving the room, and I do my best to stay perfectly still as the masseuse kneads slow, delicious circles into my back.
The last thing I want is for Sarah or her friends to look through the door and spot me.
I close my eyes, letting the music and warmth soak in, but my ears stay alert for voices drifting from the lounge.
Glasses clink, laughter spills over, and I hear Greta’s calm, professional tone as she sets up for Sarah’s manicure.
Sarah sounds tipsy, words loose and drawn out as she describes what she wants—something about soft pinks and tiny flowers.
The bridesmaids are loud, talk over each other, then someone pours more drinks and the conversation turns to the wedding.
“So are you excited? Nervous?” Greta asks, her tone light.
Sarah sighs, voice muffled but clear enough.
“Honestly, I just want Jason to finally have a real place in the Birch brothers’ business.
He’s been talking about it for months, but they keep pushing him out.
” I hear the faint splash of wine as she sets her glass down.
“My dad left me the controlling interest. Jason says with me and him together, we can actually do something big.”
One of the bridesmaids giggles. “Guess that explains why they’re not rolling out the red carpet.”
There’s a chorus of agreement, glasses clinking again. Another bridesmaid pipes up, “Speaking of, what’s the deal with Mia? I heard she’s not even maid of honor anymore.”
Sarah’s sigh is clear, floating through the open doorway. “She’s…complicated. I mean, I thought she’d be happy for me, but she’s just making things harder. She thinks she knows Jason better than I do. But she doesn’t—she can’t.”
Someone else says, “Maybe she’s just jealous. She was always so close to you, and now everything’s about Jason.”
There’s a pause. I can hear Sarah shifting in her seat, the faint clink as Greta gently moves her hand. “Mia should understand how I feel about him. He’s going to be my husband. I wish she could just see how happy I am for once.”
The girls murmur their support, but it all sounds distant and flat to me. I let the masseuse work, the warmth of the table seeping into my bones. For a second I wish I could just let it go—stop caring about Sarah, about what she thinks of me, about any of it.
But I can’t.
The masseuse finishes quietly, her hands lifting away from my shoulders. I hear her footsteps retreat, the door closing with a soft click. The room goes still.
As soon as I’m alone, it hits me. I press my face into the padded table and cry, shoulders shaking, trying to keep it silent.
My chest hurts. I stay there longer than I should, letting the warmth fade, listening until the voices outside finally drift away.
Laughter, heels, the clink of glasses—then nothing.
When Greta comes back, she doesn’t ask questions. She just presses a warm robe into my hands. “I’m sorry, Mia,” she says softly. “Go get changed. Take your time.”
I nod, unable to speak, and slip into the robe.
The changing rooms are empty. Too empty. Lockers line the walls, mirrors reflecting back a pale, unfamiliar version of me. The lights hum softly overhead. I change slowly, every small sound suddenly loud—fabric rustling, a locker door creaking, my own breathing.
I’m still in my robe, taking my clothes out of my locker, when I freeze.
Did I hear something?
My heart starts pounding, hard enough I can feel it in my throat. I stand completely still, listening. There’s a faint noise—maybe footsteps, maybe just pipes settling. I turn slowly, scanning the room, every shadow suddenly suspicious.
This is stupid, I tell myself. You’re safe. You’re just tired.
But the feeling won’t go away. My skin prickles, every instinct on edge.
I hear a soft noise—a shoe scuffing, a locker closing quietly, something that isn’t just pipes or the old building settling.
There’s someone in here. I just know it. My skin goes cold and I move, fast, clutching my clothes, not even bothering to dress. I dart toward the exit, half running, heart slamming in my chest.
I burst through the door and run straight into a solid, familiar chest. Alexander. I practically collapse against him, hugging him tight before I even think about it. He doesn’t hesitate—his arms go around me, steady, safe.
“You look freaked out,” he says, voice low.
“I…I thought someone was in there,” I manage, breathing shaky.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, concern written all over his face.
Before he can say more, Marcus and Tyler round the corner, both a little out of breath.
“We were looking for you,” Marcus says, holding out my phone. “You left this in your room.”
Tyler’s eyes are scanning the hallway, protective and restless. “We were worried.”
I open my mouth to explain, but before I can get the words out, a loud bang echoes from inside the spa changing area—the unmistakable sound of something heavy falling, or someone knocking into metal.
All four of us freeze.
Alexander gently pushes me behind him. Marcus and Tyler exchange a look—one that says they’re ready to fight if they have to. Tyler’s already moving toward the spa entrance, every step cautious, shoulders squared.
“Stay here,” Marcus says quietly, and I nod, swallowing hard, clutching the robe tighter around myself.
Alexander follows Tyler, both of them peering around the corner and into the changing room. For a moment, I only hear the echo of their footsteps and my own pulse thudding in my ears.
“Anyone in here?” Tyler calls, his voice controlled, trying not to scare me more than I already am.
It doesn’t take long to spot it: a window near the far end, glass spiderwebbed and cracked, a few shards scattered on the tile. Cold air seeps in around the frame. Someone forced their way out—or in.
Marcus kneels, scanning the floor, and spots something. He picks it up and turns it over in his hand—a chunky silver cuff link, the kind with an expensive engraving.
He holds it up. “Recognize this?”
My mouth goes dry. Jason wore a set just like that at dinner last night. His initials are even engraved on the back.
“Someone was here,” Marcus says, voice hard. “And I’m willing to bet it was him.”
My hands start shaking, the adrenaline crashing into fear. Tyler wraps an arm around me, holding me close. Alexander checks the window, then locks the door behind us just in case.
I barely find my voice. “You really think it was Jason?”
Marcus doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I do. He’s escalating. We all saw how he’s been acting, yesterday and today—throwing snowballs, tampering with the snowmobile, threatening Tyler. Now he’s breaking in. He’s not going to stop.”
Alexander puts a steadying hand on my shoulder. “That’s why we’ve been thinking—we can’t let you stay here. It’s time to move you. Tonight.”
“But where would we even go?” I ask, my voice shaky.
The guys exchange a look. Tyler speaks first. “Your cabin. It’s out of the way. Did you ever tell anyone else about it?” I try to remember, but Tyler doesn’t let me linger. “Doesn’t matter. It’s our best shot.”
Tyler and Marcus put my shirt on me, and I get into my jeans. Alexander even gives me his coat. “But you’ll be cold,” I say. He just shrugs, signaling for me to follow.
Before I can object, Marcus and Alexander are already flanking me, leading me down a side hallway. I hesitate—Sarah’s room is in the opposite direction. My mind flashes to her, to everything left unsaid, but the look on Marcus’s face says there’s no room for debate.
“We need to talk, and we need to move, now,” Marcus says, his tone making it clear I don’t get a vote.
They hustle me through a back stairwell, out into the freezing night. Tyler checks the lot, then Marcus gestures toward the snowmobiles lined up outside the service entrance.
“Marcus—” I start, but he’s already swinging onto the driver’s seat. He reaches back, grabs my hand, and before I know it, I’m up behind him, my arms locked tight around his waist.
Alexander and Tyler hop onto another snowmobile. I barely have time to pull my hood up before Marcus takes off, the engine roaring beneath us, icy wind stinging my cheeks. The lodge disappears behind us, swallowed up by trees and darkness.
The cabin is dark and cold when we get there, but Marcus quickly starts a fire while Tyler double-checks the locks and windows. Alexander keeps watch at the door, his face all tension and regret.
Marcus turns to me, eyes apologetic. “I know we just basically kidnapped you, Mia. I’m sorry. We couldn’t risk leaving you alone.”
Tyler adds, “We think Sarah’s safe until the wedding—he can’t get her inheritance if something happens before then. But you…you’re the one person standing in his way.”
Alexander sits beside me, voice gentler than I’ve ever heard. “We’re sorry for dragging you out here. But it’s safer for now.”
I nod, biting my lip, but the weight of everything crashes down. I pull out my phone and try to call my dad. But it doesn’t go through.
I inhale sharply. “It’s not working, there’s no signal here.”
“It must be the weather,” Tyler says. “It’s coming down pretty hard out there.”
I try again, and again. Nothing. Tears prick my eyes and suddenly I’m sobbing, stress and fear boiling over until I can’t hide it anymore.
My dad would protect me. But I can’t even tell him where I am, what happened to me.
All three of them move in, surrounding me with warmth, hands on my back, shoulders, hair, voices soft and urgent, comforting me in their own ways.
Tyler brushes tears from my cheeks. Marcus pulls me close against his chest, solid and safe.
Alexander strokes my hair, murmuring, “You’re not alone, Mia. We’re here.”
I can’t say who kisses me first. Maybe it’s Tyler, lips gentle at the corner of my mouth. Maybe Marcus, his hands cradling my face, wiping tears away as his mouth meets mine. Alexander presses a soft kiss to my forehead, then lowers his lips to mine too, hungry and certain.
Everything melts together—fear, relief, the heat that’s always crackled between us. Their bodies press close, hands slipping beneath my clothes, mouths everywhere, warming me from the inside out.