The snow was already falling thick and fast by the time Fukky’s rental car crawled up the final switchback to the chalet.
Christmas Eve, 7:42 p.m., somewhere high in the Austrian Alps.
Her phone had lost signal forty minutes earlier; the GPS had frozen on a cheerful blue dot that no longer moved.
She told herself it was fine.
The listing had promised seclusion, luxury, and silence—exactly what she needed after the client from hell had ghosted her two days ago, leaving her with an unpaid invoice, a maxed credit card, and a burning need to disappear until the new year.
The chalet appeared through the trees like something out of a dark fairy tale: three stories of dark timber and glass, massive stone chimney already trailing smoke, windows glowing warm amber against the black-and-white n
