Chapter 70 - The First Snowfall
The first snow of the new winter arrived in early November, catching the estate off guard with a sudden, silent blizzard that swept down from Canada and blanketed the northern suburbs in a pristine, blinding white blanket. By morning, four feet of powdery drifts had piled up against the stone walls of the mansion, turning the sprawling lawns into an arctic wonderland.
Damien stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main library, holding a steaming mug of black coffee as he watched the heavy flakes swirl past the glass. The world outside was muffled and still, the usual hum of distant highway traffic completely erased by the thick layer of snow.
Vincent walked into the library carrying a stack of firewood, dumping it neatly into the copper bin beside the roaring stone fireplace. "Plows are completely stalled on Route 41," Vincent reported, brushing wood dust from his sweater. "We're officially isolated for the next twenty-four hours."
"Good," Noah chimed in, walking into the room wearing a heavy flannel shirt and holding two mugs of hot chocolate. "That means movie marathon day, round two. Maya has already selected a lineup of classic French cinema that she swears will change our lives."
"As long as there are no subtitles required during the dramatic monologue scenes where I'm eating popcorn, I'm game," Vincent deadpanned, taking a mug from Noah.
Damien smiled, turning away from the window as Ellie entered the room, wrapped in a cream cashmere shawl. She walked over to him, leaning against his side and looking out at the glittering, snow-covered landscape.
"Feels like history repeating itself," Ellie whispered, her voice warm and amused. "Another blizzard, another storm-locked estate."
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"Only this time, we don't have to check the perimeter defenses every two hours," Damien murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "This time, the storm is just scenery."
They spent the day together by the roaring fire—talking, reading, sharing stories, and laughing over old memories that no longer carried any sting or sorrow. The contrast between the violent, fractured past and the unbreakable warmth of their present life was a daily miracle none of them took for granted. As evening fell and the amber light of the hearth danced across the dark wooden beams, Damien looked around the room at the people he loved, knowing that no storm, no ghost, and no shadow could ever reach them here.
