The afternoon sun turned the fresh alpine snow into a blinding sheet of white, reflecting directly off the glass walls of the chalet's private terrace.
I leaned against the stone balustrade, wrapping my fingers around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Down on the lower lawn, the wedding party was completely scattered. The high-society tension from the morning hangar had temporarily dissolved into a bizarre winter tradition: the annual Westbrook family snow-sport mixer. Today, it had dissolved into a chaotic, multi-table snowball war.
"Look at them," Leo said, stepping up beside me with a camera slung around his neck. "Forty tech millionaires and legacy heirs throwing frozen chunks of ice at each other like they’re back in middle school. Nature is healing."
I let out a soft laugh, the fir
