Chapter 1

Chapter One

B ella

The cold mountain air bites at my skin the moment I step out of the car. I draw in a deep breath, but it doesn't settle the churning in my stomach. Instead, the scent of pine needles and damp earth makes me feel even more out of place. My heeled boots sink into the gravel with a sharp crunch. I glance down, shaking my head at myself. Who the hell wears stilettos in a town like this? This isn't Manhattan. This is Copper Mountain, population... small.

I turn to face the old inn, the one that now belongs to me, though "belong" feels like too grand a word for the relationship I already have with this place. The listing made it seem quaint, even charming in that rustic, "needs a little work" sort of way. What stands in front of me is neither. The roof dips in the middle, as if it's given up on holding the sky up. Windows—cracked, some shattered—gape at me like hollow eyes. The porch looks ready to collapse under its own weight, let alone under the burden of guests. And the weeds? They've claimed the garden as their own.

The sight of it all makes my heart sink lower than it already was. What have I done?

I shut the car door with a click and pull my cashmere coat tighter around me, but it doesn't shield me from the cold feeling of apprehension creeping down my spine. My breath fogs in front of me as I let out a long exhale, watching it dissipate into the mountain air. The place looks worse than it did online, like it's taken one last breath and is now waiting for someone to declare it dead. The Copper Mountain Inn is more than a fixer-upper, it's got one foot in the grave.

I hesitate before stepping toward the inn, my heels scraping against the cracked stone path. It feels like a warning. A smarter woman would get back in her car and drive straight back to the city, but I'm not smart today. I'm stubborn. And I've come too far to turn around now.

Each step I take toward the door sends a shiver of doubt through me. When my heel touches the first wooden step of the porch, it groans ominously, and I freeze, holding my breath like the old wood might sense my fear and swallow me whole. Perfect , I think. Just what I needed—an inn with a personality disorder.

I push the door open, the creak loud in the otherwise quiet mountain air, and step inside. The smell hits me first. Musty, old, and stale, like this place hasn't breathed properly in years. Dust coats every surface, including the faded sheets covering the furniture. Sunlight trickles in through the grimy windows, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor.

For a moment, I stand still in the middle of the lobby, taking it all in. I can almost hear what it used to be—guests checking in, the low hum of conversation, the crackle of a fire in the hearth. But now, it's just silence, and it presses in on me from all sides.

I wrap my arms around myself, fighting back the uncertainty threatening to take root in my mind. You wanted a fresh start. Here it is. But the thought rings hollow, just like this inn.

The floor creaks beneath my boots as I walk across the room, wiping my sleeve across the grimy window to look out at the town below. Copper Mountain is quaint in a way I've never known. Small shops line the narrow main street, and there's a cafe that looks like it could have been lifted straight out of a postcard. Everything looks so quiet, too quiet. And the silence, the stillness of this place, it unsettles me. In the city, there was always noise, always movement, something to drown out the doubts, the voices in my head. Here, I'm alone with my thoughts, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for that kind of confrontation.

As I stare out the window, my thoughts drift, unbidden, back to my ex-boss, David. His smug face looms in my mind like a ghost I can't shake. The memory of our last encounter is fresh, too fresh. The way he'd looked at me, like I was something he could own. His hand on my wrist, tight enough to leave marks, and the way his voice had dropped to that condescending tone, "You're making a mistake, Bella."

I hadn't needed to hear him say it. I knew the moment I told him that my career in the city was over. He made sure of that, firing me on the spot, as if I didn't matter, as if the eight years I'd put into my work meant nothing. That's what drove me here, to this rundown inn in a town that doesn't know my name. But now, standing in the silence, surrounded by crumbling walls, I wonder if maybe he was right. Maybe I've made the biggest mistake of my life.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, yanking me out of my thoughts. I pull it out and glance at the screen. It's a message—from him.

I hear you're trying to play innkeeper now. Good luck. You'll be back in the city before winter hits.

My stomach tightens, and I grip the phone hard enough to whiten my knuckles. I want to scream. I want to throw the damn thing across the room and watch it shatter like the windows here. But instead, I shove it back into my pocket, refusing to let him get the satisfaction of a reaction from me. He's not going to define me. Not anymore.

But his words stick, lingering like poison in my veins. What if he's right? What if I fail? The thought digs deep, clawing at the resolve I've tried so hard to hold onto.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. I can't give up. I didn't come all this way just to crawl back to the city with my tail between my legs. This inn may be falling apart, but I've been in worse places before, and I didn't fall apart. I won't fall apart now.

I open my eyes, my gaze sweeping over the dusty room again. It needs work. A lot of work. But so do I. And maybe that's the point. Maybe rebuilding this place, brick by brick, will help me rebuild myself. Or maybe it will all crumble, and I'll be left standing in the wreckage.

Either way, I'm not turning back.

I pull out my phone again, this time with purpose. I scroll through the local directory, looking for help. Electricians. I need an electrician. My finger hovers over the first name that pops up: Steele Electric .

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. Steele . How fitting.

With one last glance at the inn, I tap the number and bring the phone to my ear.

"Alright, Copper Mountain," I mutter, the smirk spreading into something more confident, more determined, "show me what you've got."

The phone rings once. Twice. Then a deep voice answers.

"Steele Electric, how can I help you?"

That voice. Rich, smooth, with just enough grit to make my pulse quicken. I bite my lip, my hand tightening around the phone.

"I need someone to come fix the wiring at the old inn."

A pause, then, "That place? Thought it was condemned."

"Not yet," I say, my voice steady, though I can't help the thrill that runs through me at the sound of his chuckle.

"Well, I can come by and take a look. Shouldn't be too hard to get it back up and running."

My heart beats a little faster. Maybe it's his voice, or maybe it's the fact that this is the first step in making this place—my place—come alive again. Either way, I feel it.

"When can you come?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, but I know I'm failing. There's an edge there. A bit of eagerness I can't quite suppress.

"Tomorrow morning work for you?"

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "That works."

"Alright, see you then."

The call ends, and I'm left standing in the quiet lobby, the phone still pressed to my ear. I lower it slowly, staring at the dust-covered floor, but I don't feel that creeping doubt anymore. I feel... something else. Something that stirs just beneath the surface, something I can't quite name yet.

But as I look around the old inn, I know one thing for sure.

This place isn't dead. And neither am I.