Chapter 1

1

U nder a gray sky, the first snowflakes of the season began to fall on Stony Creek, blanketing the small town as Alyssa Greene strolled down Main Street. The air was crisp and sharp, sending a chill through her as she headed towards the lawyer’s office. Her mind was miles away, barely taking in the men climbing ladders and getting the Christmas lights hung all over town even though it would be another while before they were lit.

She wasn’t completely naive. She’d known that there had been several moments since Alyssa had started working at Wayne’s tree farm when the future wasn’t certain for the business.

But Stony Creek Christmas Tree Farm was more than just a business to this small town—it was a tradition, a symbol of the community’s spirit. For decades, families had flocked to the farm to choose their perfect Christmas tree, sip hot cocoa, and bask in the holiday cheer. Alyssa had gone with her own family to pick out their tree every year, and then when she turned seventeen, she’d started working there, learning everything she knew from Wayne.

But now, with Wayne’s passing, the future of the farm hung in the balance. Alyssa had been struggling to keep it afloat, pouring every ounce of her energy into managing Stony Creek Christmas Tree Farm since Wayne had died suddenly a little over a month ago, at the start of October. She’d made the hefty loan payment earlier this month, a decision that had left her personal finances stretched thin. She’d been taking minimal pay too, prioritizing the farm’s operating costs over her own needs.

The lawyer’s office was a small, unassuming building sandwiched between Mrs. Higgins’ bakery and the town’s tiny hardware store. A faint smell of cinnamon lingered in the air, a comforting aroma that did little to ease the knot in Alyssa’s stomach. As she opened the door to the lawyer’s office, she spotted Mrs. Higgins emerging from her bakery next door.

“Mornin’, Alyssa,” Mrs. Higgins said with a smile. “You here for Wayne’s will reading?”

“Morning, Mrs. Higgins,” Alyssa said as she returned her smile. “Yes, Mr. Peterson called me earlier this week.”

“Me too. I’m actually the secondary executor.” Mrs. Higgins sighed. “Though I can’t say I ever thought I’d see this day. Such a shame about Wayne… I still can’t believe he’s gone. Sixty-eight. So young.”

“I know,” Alyssa murmured. She pushed open the door fully. The office was warm and dimly lit, the scent of old books and aged paper filling the air.

Alyssa had to assume that she was inheriting the tree farm. She’d been working there for the last thirteen years as Wayne’s equal almost, and as far as she knew he had no family. His wife had died years ago. There were no photos around the office or at his farmhouse. But even though she’d been expecting to take over the business side of things for the tree farm, a little inheritance money would certainly make things less difficult, and she just had to hope that he’d taken out some kind of policy.

“I wonder if his daughter will show up,” Mrs. Higgins mused, following Alyssa inside.

Alyssa turned to face her. “His daughter?”

Before Mrs. Higgins could elaborate, the door to Mr. Peterson’s office creaked open. Mr. Peterson stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the light spilling out from his office. His neatly groomed hair was a mix of grays, and his suit was pressed and professional. He wore glasses, and a small smile played on his lips, the corners pulled tight in a polite way.

“Please, come in,” he said, motioning them inside. “Have a seat. Apologies for the delay,” Peterson said, glancing at his watch. “I held off for ten minutes, but we really should get started.”

As Alyssa sat down, her eyes were drawn to the vacant chair beside Mrs. Higgins. Ten minutes. Who was he waiting for? The question echoed the strange comment Mrs. Higgins had made about Wayne’s daughter. She pushed the thought aside. Her heart raced with anticipation as she waited to hear the details of the will. Even a small inheritance, a little cushion, would make a world of difference this season.

The room was silent except for the rustling of papers and the soft ticking of a clock.

Mr. Peterson cleared his throat, the sound amplified in the quiet office. “As you know, I’m here today to read the last will and testament of Wayne Addington.”

Alyssa nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.

“First,” Peterson continued, adjusting his glasses, “let me extend my condolences on your loss. Wayne was a pillar of this community, and he will be deeply missed.”

“He will,” Mrs. Higgins said, her voice thick with emotion.

Alyssa swallowed, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. She simply nodded again.

Alyssa’s heart thudded against her chest as Mr. Peterson began the will reading. She sat on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The worry that had been weighing down on her for weeks intensified with each passing moment. She thought of the bills piling up on her desk—the electricity, the equipment maintenance, the seasonal workers’ wages. With just three weeks until the farm’s busiest season, every penny counted.

Mr. Peterson’s voice droned on, the legal jargon blurring together in Alyssa’s mind. Then, a phrase cut through the haze: “To Alyssa Greene, I leave the farmhouse and all its contents.”

Alyssa blinked, momentarily stunned. The farmhouse. Wayne had left her his home. She’d assumed that it would just be sold, that it would be kept separate from the business.

She’d been living in the small cabin that was maybe one hundred yards away from the business, paying minimal rent. Wayne had offered it to her early on, saying that it was too much hassle to try and rent out, that he’d prefer someone he knew personally to live there. That it would be one less thing for him to worry about.

Mr. Peterson hesitated, the weight of anticipation hanging in the air. “Now, regarding the Stony Creek Christmas Tree Farm itself?—”

The office door swung open, cutting him off mid-sentence. Alyssa spun around, surprise flashing in her eyes as she took in the figure in the doorway. Her tailored coat clung elegantly to her frame, complemented by heels that clicked confidently against the floor—a perfect picture of Hollywood glamour.

Recognition dawned on Alyssa immediately: Denise Adams, the famous actress.

“Sorry I’m late,” Denise offered with an effortlessly charming smile, though there was a slight breathlessness beneath her polished appearance. “I got held up at the airport.”

Alyssa stared, her mind reeling. What was Denise Adams doing here in Stony Creek? And then, with a sudden, sinking clarity, Mrs. Higgins’ earlier words came into her mind: Wayne’s daughter.

Alyssa’s heart dropped. This couldn’t be possible. In all her years working at the farm, Wayne had never once mentioned a daughter, let alone a famous actress.

Denise Adams took a seat beside Alyssa, her presence filling the small office. Alyssa could feel the weight of her gaze as she tried to process the situation.

Mr. Peterson cleared his throat again, drawing Alyssa’s attention back to the matter at hand. She forced herself to focus, pushing aside the shock of Denise Adam’s arrival. The future of Stony Creek Christmas Tree Farm hung in the balance, and Alyssa needed to hear what came next.

Mr. Peterson glanced between the two women as he continued. “Stony Creek Christmas Tree Farm is to be co-inherited, split equally between Alyssa Greene and Denise Addington.”

Alyssa’s breath caught in her throat. Co-ownership? With a movie star? She fought to steady herself, confusion swirling in her mind. What had Wayne been thinking?

Beside her, Denise mirrored her confusion. Her eyes widened slightly as if trying to process what this shared inheritance meant. For a moment, the tension hung in the air between them like the calm before a storm.

Alyssa gripped the arms of the chair. This wasn’t just a matter of money; it was about values and priorities. Did Denise even care about Stony Creek? Did she even know how to run a tree farm?

As Alyssa watched, Denise Addingtoneyes bore into the lawyer seated across from her. It was as if time had stood still. Alyssa couldn’t believe what was unfolding in front of her.

How could she have never known about Wayne’s daughter? They’d worked side by side for years, shared countless cups of coffee in the early mornings and late evenings. And yet, not once had he mentioned having a child, let alone one who’d made it big in Hollywood.

The weight of it all pressed down on Alyssa’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. The farm’s precarious financial situation, the looming loan payments due soon, the crucial holiday season ahead—everything now hinged on this stranger. This woman who’d changed her name and apparently wanted nothing to do with Stony Creek or her father while he was alive.

Denise shifted in her seat. Her perfectly manicured hand rose to her throat, touching a delicate silver necklace. The gesture seemed unconscious, betraying a crack in her polished exterior.

“There must be some mistake,” Denise said, a hint of drama lacing her words as they echoed the lines she’d delivered on screen before. Her gaze swept across the room, eyes settling on Alyssa with a sharp intensity. “I’m his only living relative. The business and my childhood home... everything should rightfully come to me.”

Alyssa’s stomach lurched. The room felt too small, too warm.

“My father and I may have had our differences, but legally speaking, this property should be mine to do with as I want.” Denise’s fingers drummed against the arm of the chair. “And what I want is to sell it. All of it.”

The words hit Alyssa like a physical blow. Sell it? The farm. Wayne’s legacy. Her home for the past thirteen years?

Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.

“The will is quite clear, Ms. Adams,” Mr. Peterson said. “Your father specifically designated co-ownership between yourself and Ms. Greene.”

“Co-ownership?” Denise’s laugh held no warmth. “With all due respect, this is a family matter. How do you even know my father?”

“I’ve been working there for the last thirteen years,” Alyssa said, her voice barely above a whisper. The nausea intensified as she watched Denise’s perfectly painted lips curl into a dismissive smile.

“The point is,” Denise continued as if Alyssa hadn’t spoken, “I intend to sell this property. The real estate alone is worth a considerable sum, especially with the recent development in the area. This town could use a ski resort.”

Alyssa pressed her hand against her stomach, fighting the wave of sickness that threatened to overwhelm her. The farm wasn’t just property. It wasn’t just real estate. It was thirteen years of her life, countless Christmas memories, Wayne’s dream. And now this woman, this stranger with Wayne’s eyes, wanted to destroy it all.

She looked at Denise again, trying to reconcile this glamorous stranger with Wayne’s memory. The same blue eyes, yes, but where his had always held warmth and laughter, hers were cold and distant.