Page 120 of Sweet Nightmare

I stand frozen, staring.

The fountain is completely frozen, every tier is covered in layers of silver-white ice. It looks like crystals dancing in the afternoon light.

Beautiful… almost like something my father would create with his barehands.

I’ve seen gardens in Europe that cost more to maintain than most people earn in a lifetime. I’ve walked through palaces and estates in Asia. I’ve stood beneath sculptures and fountains created by my own father whose name is being currently taught in universities.

None of them feel like this.

I remember my conversation with Mika earlier in the kitchen.

Look at that view.

It would be more beautiful if I were leaving.

Ugh.

How I hate being wrong.

Especially when I said it with complete confidence.

I glance down the hallway to make sure no one is around. When I see no sign of Mika, Mrs. Han, or the rude-as-hell owner, I take a deep breath and keep moving. Perfect.

Mika is probably with Mrs. Han, being all positive petunias and talking about staying calm, along with whatever else belongs to their strange little religion of optimism. That means I have a small window of freedom, and I intend to use it.

I return to my room and change into my cream-colored winter jacket, matching gloves, boots, and fluffy white earmuffs. After brushing my hair, I leave it down because the sleek ponytails haven’t helped the headaches I’ve been getting since I arrived. I give myself one last look in the mirror. I look presentable, and that’s good enough.

Then I sneak out and quietly make my way through the estate, following a long corridor lined with mirrors on both sides. Dozens of reflections move with me until I reach a pair of enormous glass double doors standing slightly open.

I stop and glance behind me. The mirrors stare back, multiplying my reflection until I look surrounded by an army of slightly annoyed versions of myself. Then I turn toward the beautiful glass doors, where a thin ribbon of cold air slips through the opening.

That’s odd, but not odd enough to stop me. My brother Roman has always said curiosity is one of my more questionable traits, and he isn’t wrong.

I push the doors open, and cold air rushes over my face. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and enjoy the sharp bite of winter against my skin, the clean, almost metallic smell of snow, and the way the cold seems to wake up every nerve in my body.

Without thinking twice, I step outside, and the snow immediately swallows the edges of my boots. It’s deeper than I expect, swallowing my boots with every step.

Crunch.

Step.

Crunch.

Step.

The sound is strangely satisfying, and a small smile sneaks onto my face.

Then I head toward the garden I spotted through the windows earlier.

I don’t know what draws me outside. I only know I want to see it for myself.

And maybe, I need to prove that I won’t spend the next few days sulking just because the universe has inconvenienced me.

I take another step, my coat brushing against my legs as I tuck my hands deeper into my pockets. The wind sweeps across my face, tickling the tip of my nose and chilling my cheeks.

I wrinkle my nose, trying to shake off the sensation.

Annoyed, I lift a gloved hand to tuck the loose strands behind my ear, only for the wind to tug at them free again. I smooth my hair back once more and keep walking. The farther I go, the quieter the storm seems. It’s almost peaceful.