Locked In
1832 Words
Ivy snatched a velvet throw pillow from the nearest armchair and crushed it against her chest.
"Turn around," she shrieked, her voice echoing frantically in the large space.
Sebastian immediately spun on his heel. The muscles in his broad back went completely rigid under his tight black shirt. "I am turning. Jesus, Ivy. Just cover up."
"With what?" she demanded, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "My clothes are soaking wet."
He let out a heavy breath, the sound rough and deeply frustrated. He did not look back. He kept his eyes locked on the dark stone of the fireplace. "Stay right there. Do not move. I am going to get you something dry."
He walked away, disappearing down the dark hallway. Ivy stood frozen, clutching the pillow tightly. Her heart was hammering violently against her ribs. She had just stood half naked in front of Sebastian Clarke. The man was a hockey legend. He spent fifteen years as the most terrifying enforcer in the professional league. More importantly, he was Juliet's father. It was an absolute disaster.
A moment later, a heavy shadow emerged from the hallway. Sebastian tossed a bundle of dark fabric through the air. It landed squarely on the leather couch next to her.
"Put that on," he ordered, his voice echoing from the shadows. "And put your wet things in the mudroom."
Ivy dropped the pillow and grabbed the fabric. It was a thick, dark grey cashmere sweater. She pulled it over her head, her numb fingers struggling with the material. The sweater was comically large on her. The hem reached all the way down to her mid thigh, functioning like a short winter dress. The heavy sleeves completely swallowed her hands.
More importantly, it smelled exactly like him. It was a rich, intoxicating mix of cedar wood, expensive soap, and clean alpine air. The scent wrapped around her senses, making her stomach do a strange, treacherous flip.
"I am decent," she called out, pulling the collar up around her neck.
Sebastian stepped back into the amber glow of the reading lamp. He looked her up and down. His expression was completely masked, his jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line. He looked like a man preparing for a physical fight.
"Sit down," he instructed, pointing a large finger toward the couch. "We need to figure this out."
Ivy crossed her arms defensively, sinking into the plush leather. "There is nothing to figure out. I am stuck here until Juliet arrives."
"Juliet is not arriving," Sebastian corrected her sharply. He remained standing, dominating the space. "Charles de Gaulle airport is completely shut down. The French aviation authority grounded all flights until the storm passes. Juliet is safe in a hotel in Paris. You, on the other hand, decided to hike up a mountain in a whiteout."
"I did not know it was a whiteout until I was already halfway up," Ivy argued. "And I could not exactly turn around and walk back to the train station. My luggage weighs fifty pounds."
"You should not have been out there in the first place, Ivy. You are twenty three years old. You are not a child. You should know better than to ignore local weather warnings."
His tone was reprimanding. It was the exact tone he used when she and Juliet used to sneak out to parties in high school. It instantly sparked a defensive anger inside her.
"Do not talk to me like I am a reckless teenager," she snapped back. "I had a plan. My plan was to come to my best friend's empty house, drink an entire bottle of wine, and forget that my boyfriend of five years just slept with his receptionist."
The words spilled out before she could stop them. Silence crashed over the room.
Sebastian stared at her. The harsh reprimand died in his throat. His dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second, registering the raw pain in her voice. Then, a dark, dangerous protective instinct flared in his expression.
"Mark did what?" his voice was dangerously low, completely devoid of the paternal annoyance from a moment ago.
Ivy looked away, suddenly ashamed. "It does not matter. We are over. I just wanted to be alone for the holidays."
"He cheated on you." It was not a question. It was a statement of fact, and Sebastian sounded like he wanted to break something. He took a slow, heavy step toward her. "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday," she whispered, staring at her bare feet. "I caught them in our apartment. So I packed my bags and took the first train to Chamonix. Juliet told me to come here. She said the chalet is completely secluded. It is built directly into the mountain ridge, miles away from the tourist traps down in the valley. She said it was the perfect place to hide."
"It is," Sebastian agreed. His voice was tight. He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of sheer frustration. "I bought this property specifically because it is off the main grid. The timber and stone construction can withstand severe alpine weather. It is completely isolated. That is why I come here early. To rest my knee before the chaos of the holidays begins."
Ivy glanced at his left leg. She knew all about his knee. It was the brutal injury that forced him into early retirement. He never talked about it, refusing to show any signs of weakness. The fact that he admitted he needed rest was a massive concession.
"I am sorry I invaded your peace and quiet," she said quietly.
Sebastian sighed. The anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving only a heavy exhaustion. He dragged a hand through his dark hair. "You did not invade. Juliet should have communicated better. But you cannot stay here, Ivy. It is not appropriate."
Ivy frowned. "Why not? There are six bedrooms in this house."
"Because I am Juliet's father," he stated firmly, as if that explained everything. "And you are a young woman who just showed up on my doorstep in her underwear. If anyone finds out we are staying in this cabin alone, it will cause a massive scandal. My sports agency is currently negotiating three multi million dollar contracts. I cannot afford tabloid rumors right now."
Ivy felt a sudden, sharp sting of rejection. He was not worried about her safety. He was worried about his reputation.
"Fine," she said, her voice turning cold. "I will leave as soon as the storm breaks."
"You will leave tonight," Sebastian corrected her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen illuminated his sharp features. "I am calling Pierre. He runs a private transport service down in the valley. He has heavily modified vehicles designed for alpine emergencies. He owes me a favor. I will pay whatever he asks to get you down the mountain to a five star hotel."
"Sebastian, the driver who brought me said the avalanche patrols blocked the pass. You cannot force a car up here."
"I can and I will," he said stubbornly. "Money moves mountains, Ivy. I am not keeping you here. It is too dangerous. Not just the weather. The optics."
He tapped the screen of his phone, bringing up his contacts.
Ivy watched him, feeling a hollow ache in her chest. He could not wait to get rid of her. He looked at her like she was a liability. A nuisance.
"You do not have to do this," she pleaded softly. "I will stay out of your way. I promise. You will not even know I am here."
Sebastian stopped scrolling. He looked up at her, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that stole her breath. "That is the problem, Ivy. I will know exactly where you are."
The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy. For a split second, the invisible wall between them crumbled. The air crackled with the memory of how his eyes had darkened when he looked at her body just minutes ago.
He tore his gaze away and pressed the phone to his ear.
"Come on, Pierre," he muttered impatiently. "Pick up."
The house remained completely silent, save for the violent thrashing of the wind against the thick glass panes.
Then, the sound started.
It began as a low, ominous rumble, deep within the bedrock of the mountain. Ivy felt the vibration travel up through the soles of her feet. It was a terrifying, primal sound.
"What is that?" she gasped, standing up from the couch.
"Wait," Sebastian ordered, lowering the phone. His head snapped toward the massive front windows.
The rumble escalated into a deafening boom. It sounded like a bomb detonating directly above the chalet. The entire timber structure shuddered violently. The floor shook, rattling the crystal glasses on the wooden bar.
Before Ivy could scream, an incredibly shrill, piercing siren erupted simultaneously from both of their phones. It was the emergency broadcast system.
Ivy grabbed her phone from the console table. The cracked screen flashed bright red with a localized alert.
SEVERE AVALANCHE. CATEGORY FIVE. SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.
"Sebastian," she whispered, true terror gripping her throat.
He did not answer. He was already moving. He crossed the living room in three massive strides, reaching the heavy oak front door. He grabbed the brass deadbolt and slammed it into the locked position with a resounding c***k.
"Get away from the windows," he commanded, his voice booming over the sound of the trembling house.
As soon as the words left his mouth, a sudden, blinding flash of blue light illuminated the sky outside. A main power transformer had blown somewhere down the mountain.
A second later, the reading lamp flickered, popped, and died. The low hum of the refrigerator ceased.
The chalet plunged into total, suffocating darkness. The power grid had completely failed.
Ivy stood frozen in the pitch black, her breath catching in her throat. The only sound left was the howling wind outside, louder and more vicious than before.
She heard the heavy tread of Sebastian's boots moving through the dark. He stopped just a few feet away from her. The scent of cedar and clean winter air washed over her, grounding her in the absolute blackness.
"Sebastian?" she asked, her voice trembling violently in the dark.
"The main access road," his deep voice rumbled through the pitch black room, carrying a heavy, undeniable finality. "It just got buried under fifty tons of snow."
He paused, and the weight of his next words crashed down on her harder than the avalanche itself.
"We are trapped.”
- Writer
