Page 12 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"I'm really sorry," she interrupts, her voice oddly rushed. "My mom's situation got worse. I'm actually at the hospital right now and can't talk. I'll call you—"
The call drops abruptly, cutting her off mid-sentence. When I look at my screen, the service bars have disappeared entirely, replaced by "No Service."
"How much longer until we reach the cabin?" I ask, pressing for more information.
"About forty minutes," he replies. "The roads get rough from here, especially with the snow. Mr. Strickland warned me to drive carefully with you aboard."
The phrasing makes me uncomfortable. "With me aboard?"
"Mr. Strickland is protective of his guests," the driver says smoothly. "Especially when weather conditions are less than ideal."
"And Aaron? Did he mention when Aaron would arrive?"
The driver's eyes meet mine in the mirror again, holding for a beat longer than necessary. "Mr. Strickland only discussed your arrival, miss. I don't have any information about Mr. Aaron's schedule."
Something in his careful avoidance makes my unease grow. Victor had been specific about my arrival but not about his son's? That seems odd, even if Aaron is making his own way to the cabin.
The car turns onto a narrower road, snow-covered pines crowding in on both sides. The isolation is becoming absolute, the outside world disappearing behind curtains of white.
"You should know," the driver says after several minutes of silence, "that cell service and internet can be unpredictable at the cabin. Mr. Strickland likes his privacy. Sometimes the satellite connection goes down for days during storms."
"Days?" I repeat, alarm rising. "But there must be a landline, right?"
"There is," he confirms. "But it's connected through the same system. When one goes, they all go."
"So we could be completely cut off?" I try to keep my voice steady.
"It rarely happens," he assures me, though his tone lacks conviction. "And Mr. Strickland is well-prepared for any contingency. The cabin is fully stocked for an extended stay."
An extended stay. The words echo in my mind. What if this isn't just about Christmas? What if the "emergency building inspection" takes longer than expected? What if my research funding doesn't come through when school resumes?
What if I have nowhere to go back to?
The thought should terrify me. Instead, a treacherous part of me feels relief. No more struggling to make rent. No more choosing between textbooks and groceries. No more pretending I'm not drowning in debt while trying to keep up with Aaron's wealthy friends.
But at what cost?
I reach into my bag and pull out the acceptance letter I'd received just before everything fell apart—the Werner Fellowship that would have covered my final year of medical school. Now the program has been suspended, the funding redirected, my faculty advisor suddenly transferred across the country.
Every door closing simultaneously, every option disappearing, until all that's left is this—a mountain cabin owned by a man who makes me feel things I shouldn't.
"We're here," the driver announces, turning onto a private drive marked by an ornate iron gate. The metalwork is intricate, with subtle "T" monograms worked into the design.
The trees open up to reveal the Strickland family "cabin"—though calling it a cabin is like calling a mansion a house. The structure rises from the snow-covered clearing like something from a luxury magazine, all glass and wood, with warm light spilling from enormous windows onto the white landscape.
It's beautiful. Imposing. And utterly isolated.
The driveway curves around to the front entrance, and my heart sinks as I see only one car parked under the covered area. Victor's sleek BMW against the pristine snow. No sign of Aaron's red Jeep anywhere.
"Your luggage will be brought in shortly," the driver says, opening my door and extending a gloved hand to help me navigate the snowy steps. "Mr. Strickland is expecting you."
I deliberately leave the gifts on the seat, unwilling to appear presumptuous if Aaron isn't even here. Instead, I grab my purse and a small overnight bag containing essentials.
"When will you be back?" I ask, suddenly desperate to know if the driver—my only connection to the outside world—will be staying.
"I won't be, miss," he says, already walking back toward the car. "Mr. Strickland arranges transportation as needed. But don't worry—he's an excellent host."
And then he's gone, the sedan disappearing down the winding drive, leaving me standing alone on the front steps of a mountain retreat that suddenly feels less like a romantic getaway and more like a trap.
