POV Charlotte
The lodge's main hall had been transformed for the presentation—chairs arranged facing a large projector screen, the staff gathered with an air of nervous anticipation that crackled through the room like static electricity.
I stood near the back with Tom, scanning the crowd for familiar faces, when the twins spotted Dean among the assembled employees.
They broke away from me before I could stop them, racing across the polished floor with matching determination.
"Dean! Dean, we saved you a seat!" Leah's voice carried over the murmur of conversation, and I watched her grab his hand with both of hers while Noah followed in his quiet way, hovering at Dean's elbow until he was acknowledged with a gentle nod.
Dean welcomed them with an ease—settling them into chairs beside him, leaning down to hear whatever Leah was chattering about, ruffling Noah's dark hair in a gesture so natural it stole my breath.
Tom leaned close, his voice low and disapproving against my ear. "The children would be better off with their mother than cozying up to a common laborer. It sends the wrong message to the staff—the Evergreen heirs treating the handyman like family."
I turned to him with a cool smile, something sharp and satisfying rising in my throat.
"We all attended the same school, Tom. And if I remember correctly, you were so eager to climb the social ladder back then that you'd befriend anyone useful—even the 'common' kids when it suited your ambitions. Derek Miller tutored you through calculus, didn't he? You bought him lunch for a month to secure his help, then pretended you didn't know him at graduation."
I let my smile widen, watching his jaw tighten.
"The only difference now is that you have money, while Dean has spent seven years actually building something with his hands instead of inheriting it."
Tom's eyes flashed with suppressed anger, but he couldn't argue without drawing attention from the nearby staff members already finding their seats. I waved at the twins with deliberate warmth, and Leah immediately began calling for me to join them.
"Mommy, come sit with us! There's room, Dean can scoot over, please Mommy please!"
I declined with a small shake of my head, unwilling to provoke Tom's temper further in public.
Peyton appeared from somewhere behind us and deliberately squeezed into the narrow space between Tom and me, forcing separation with her yoga-toned shoulders.
I felt a rush of gratitude for my sister's interference, for the buffer of her body between his proximity and mine.
"You'll never guess what I just heard," Peyton murmured, leaning toward me conspiratorially. "One of the waiters has started taking bets on who will emerge as the resort's breakout social media star—me or Dean. Current odds favor him, apparently, which I find personally offensive given how good my lighting looked in the spa footage."
Tom interjected before I could respond. "There's no real competition. Leah will steal the spotlight from everyone. Mark my words."
I looked at him with genuine surprise, and he elaborated with unexpected warmth that caught me off guard.
"She has incredible charisma—fearless in front of the camera, completely natural. Audiences will fall in love with her instantly, and she knows exactly how to play to their attention without anyone teaching her. It's remarkable, really."
Before I could process this uncharacteristic praise Alicia called for attention from the front of the room. The lights dimmed, and the presentation began.
The redesigned website filled the screen first, sleek and modern, miles away from the outdated template that had been languishing online for years.
Promotional videos showcased the resort's beauty in ways I'd only imagined during late-night planning sessions, and the carefully crafted copy for various social platforms drew murmurs of approval from the staff
Peyton's spa content appeared next, drawing appreciative reactions—she posed beautifully, radiating calm expertise alongside her team members.
"You look incredible," I whispered.
She deflected with characteristic humor. "Only the kitchen team's content rivals mine. Have you seen Jaxon's footage? The man makes pancakes look like fine art. I'm genuinely concerned he'll steal my thunder."
Then Dean's solo footage began, and the temperature in the room seemed to rise by several degrees.
The forest shots filled the screen—Dean splitting wood in his open flannel, each swing of the axe showcasing the kind of effortless competence that made the women in the audience shift in their seats.
When the snowboarding video played, someone near the front called out: "I'd pay fifty dollars to see that performance live!"
Dean's voice carried from where he sat with my children, casual and warm. "Available for free anytime. Just find me on the slopes."
I glanced back without thinking, and he met my eyes immediately. Winked. Something fluttered traitorously in my stomach, and I forced myself to face forward again.
The next segment shifted the room's energy entirely. Footage of Dean teaching Leah to ski filled the screen—his patience evident in every frame, the way he crouched to her level, guided her small body through the movements, caught her when she wobbled.
Nearby in the shots, Noah sat on a bench with a book, occasionally looking up to watch his sister. The room fell into moved silence before soft exclamations rippled through the crowd.
"God, he's so gentle with her," someone murmured. "Look at how she trusts him completely. This is the most heartwarming content I've ever seen for a resort."
My throat tightened painfully, watching Dean on screen with my children, looking every bit like the father he didn't know he was. I couldn't bring myself to turn around and see his reaction, couldn't bear to witness whatever emotion might be written across his features.
I focused back on the screen just as new images appeared: photos of me and Dean together on the snowboard, my body pressed against his, his arms around me.
Then the video—our descent, the warning caption about not attempting this at home, the undeniable chemistry crackling between us even through the screen.
The room erupted with excited commentary. "The danger! The romance! This is Valentine's Day marketing gold!"
Beside me, Tom went rigid with fury.
"This content will absolutely not be published," he declared. "You are my partner, not some prop for a working-class fantasy."
He stared daggers at Dean across the room, his hand finding my elbow with bruising pressure.
I couldn't bring myself to look at Dean now—could only murmur, "Arguing about it here is pointless, Tom. We'll discuss it later."
Alicia thanked everyone for attending, her voice professionally bright despite the tension crackling through the air.
"The remaining content is more ordinary. First advertisements launch tonight—everyone should prepare for booking inquiries starting tomorrow. This is just the beginning."
Applause filled the room as the lights came up. Staff members began filing out, buzzing with excitement, but Tom's hand remained locked around my arm.
He leaned close to my ear, his breath warm and threatening, his words meant only for me.
"Soon you'll need to repay my investment, Charlotte. We will appear together as a couple at the Christmas Festival opening. In front of everyone—your parents, the staff, the guests, the cameras. You'll smile and hold my hand and play the part I'm paying for."
His fingers tightened once, a reminder of the cage closing around me.
"Don't forget who's keeping this place alive."
I said nothing. Just stood there in the room, watching my children laugh at something Dean had said, feeling the walls press closer with every breath.