Page 1 of Trapped with the Ice Queen

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VIVIENNE

Vivienne Blackwood hated Christmas.

The thought crystallized in her mind as clearly as the frost creeping across her windshield, despite the luxury SUV’s best efforts to keep it at bay. Snow fell faster now, fat flakes swirling in her headlights like moths drawn to flame, and the GPS signal flickered ominously, the screen stuttering between navigation and static. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her manicured nails biting into the leather-wrapped rim.

In another hour, she would be safelysettled in the most exclusive suite at the Silver Pine Resort, curled up in front of a designer fireplace with an obscenely expensive bottle of wine. Alone. Determinedly not thinking about what had happened exactly one year ago today.

Her car’s Bluetooth chimed, interrupting the tense silence. Her assistant’s voice crackled through the speakers, fighting against the growing interference.

“Ms. Blackwood? The resort called. They’re concerned about the weather conditions.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes, though no one was there to see. “I don’t care if it’s the fucking apocalypse, Sophie. I booked that suite months ago specifically to be alone, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

“But they’re saying—” Sophie’s voice dissolved into static, and Vivienne sighed heavily as silence swallowed the line.

Perfect. Just perfect.

The first few snowflakes had seemed almost whimsical when she left Denver, a delicate curtain draped over the jagged peaks of the Rockies. Now, the storm pressed inaround her rented Range Rover like a living thing. Vast, hungry, relentless.

Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, as if the storm might have gained sentience and chosen her as its next victim. The heated leather seats and the purring hum of the engine felt suddenly flimsy, an inadequate defense against nature’s fury.

“Blackwood women don’t panic, darling. We assess and adapt.”

Her mother’s voice drifted uninvited into her thoughts, the echo of lessons drilled into her since childhood. But what use was calm reasoning now?

The memory of last Christmas slid through her defenses, sharp and unwelcome. She’d come home early from a board meeting, clutching a tiny velvet box and brimming with excitement.

The house had been perfect. Stockings hung with precise symmetry over the marble fireplace. A twelve-foot tree in the foyer of their beautiful home, decorated in carefully curated ornaments. A holiday playlist humming softly in the background.

And then Chloe, her beloved,tangled in their very expensive sheets mid 69 with her personal trainer.

Vivienne blinked hard, the memory dissolving like smoke. She refocused on the road, which had narrowed to a pale, winding ribbon between snow-packed pines. The windshield wipers flailed, struggling to keep up, while the Range Rover’s tires gripped the icy surface with increasing uncertainty.

Her GPS screen flickered once more then went dark.

“No, no, no,” Vivienne muttered, jabbing at the touchscreen. “Don’t you dare.”

The hot air blasting from the vents barely touched the chill spreading through her body. A shiver ran down her spine, and her pulse quickened. She was Vivienne Blackwood. CEO of Vivid Black, a multi-million-dollar fashion empire. She didnotget lost in snowstorms. She didnotlose control.

The engine coughed.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she warned, her voice sharp as a whip. But the Range Rover shuddered violently, a death rattle shaking through the chassis. The dashboard lit up like Christmas morning—except these weren’t gifts. They were warnings.

The engine died with a final, pitiful sigh.

The silence that followed seemed to mock her. For a long moment, Vivienne just sat there, gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline. Outside, the snow continued to fall, relentless and indifferent. The road had vanished entirely beneath the mounting drifts, and the dense forest loomed on either side like silent sentinels.

She exhaled shakily and glanced at her phone. No bars. Of course not. She had chosen this mountain escape precisely for its isolation, hadn’t she? To leave behind the bustling chaos of New York, the endless swirl of parties and obligations, the constant reminders of how spectacularly her life had derailed.

The SUV’s interior was growing colder by the second. Her breath frosted in the air, forming little puffs of vapor that dissipated quickly. She was wearing a cashmere sweater dress tailored to perfection and boots that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Beautiful. Impractical. Useless against the cold.

Assess and adapt.

The glove compartmentheld an emergency flashlight, its batteries mercifully still functional, and a road flare. She rummaged through the trunk next, shoving aside designer luggage to find a space blanket and a first-aid kit. No extra layers. No gloves. No food.

What the hell had she been thinking?

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