Chapter 3: Ice and Fire
1222 Words
The next morning, Sofia Carter woke to the scent of fresh coffee and the hum of the city far below. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was—until she rolled over and saw the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The elegant suite, the luxury sheets, the silence—it all came rushing back.
She was in Dominic Stone’s penthouse. His secret wife.
Slipping out of bed, she padded across the room and found a breakfast tray waiting on the table: croissants, fruit, eggs, and a perfectly brewed latte. The gesture was thoughtful… until she spotted the folded note beside the cup, written in precise, masculine handwriting.
"Meet me in the study at 9 a.m. – Dominic"
She checked the time. 8:46.
Fifteen minutes to prepare. She shoved aside her doubts and pulled on a cream blouse and a fitted pair of slacks from the closet—again, perfectly tailored. She twisted her long hair into a loose bun, added light makeup, and slipped on a pair of flats. Her reflection in the mirror looked composed, calm. Nothing like the whirlwind inside her.
When she stepped into the study, she paused at the doorway.
Dominic sat behind a dark mahogany desk, reviewing papers with the same intensity she’d seen in news interviews. Sunlight cast a glow across his sculpted face, highlighting his chiseled jaw and smooth, controlled expression. He was a man carved out of ice, and yet somehow, impossibly magnetic.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
She entered, clutching her hands in front of her. “You wanted to see me?”
He nodded and finally met her eyes. “I have a charity gala to attend tomorrow night. You’ll be coming with me.”
“A gala?” Her stomach fluttered. “Won’t that… raise questions?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve already briefed my assistant. To the public, you’re a new personal hire. You’ll be introduced as my event coordinator. Nothing romantic. Keep your distance, but stay near enough to be noticed.”
Sofia hesitated. “Won’t people talk?”
“People always talk. We’ll give them just enough to speculate without confirming anything.”
She didn’t like the idea of being paraded around like an employee while secretly being his wife. But she had no right to argue—not when she’d signed away her voice.
“There’s a fitting this afternoon,” he added. “My stylist will be here by four. She’ll bring dresses for you to choose from.”
Sofia nodded, but curiosity got the better of her. “Why a gala? I thought we were keeping this private.”
“We are,” he said, standing and walking toward the window. “But appearances still matter. I need to show I’m stable. Settled. Even if it’s just for one night.”
She watched him, noting how the sunlight danced along the edges of his suit. He was always so composed, so in control. Yet there was a darkness in his eyes—something old and unspoken.
“Dominic…” she asked quietly. “What was your grandfather like?”
His body tensed for a moment before he spoke. “Powerful. Calculated. A man who believed love was weakness and loyalty was only earned through fear. He built Stone Enterprises from the ground up, but at a cost.”
She waited, sensing there was more, but he said nothing else.
After a pause, she spoke. “He must have cared enough to make sure you married before giving you the company.”
Dominic turned toward her, his gray eyes steely. “He didn’t do it out of love. It was control, even after death. A final test to see if I’d sacrifice personal freedom for power. And I did.”
Her heart ached a little, though she tried not to let it show. “And me?”
“You?” His gaze flicked over her face. “You’re the solution. A necessary part of a game he started long ago. Don’t romanticize it.”
She nodded, though the sting in her chest didn’t fade.
Later that afternoon, the stylist arrived. Her name was Candace—tall, chic, and utterly efficient. She swept into Sofia’s room like a storm of silk and sparkle, followed by assistants carrying racks of gowns.
“Darling, we need to make a statement. Nothing too bold, but not too plain either. You’re walking beside a Stone. You need to look like you belong there.”
Sofia blushed. “I'm just supposed to blend in.”
Candace raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, honey. You don’t blend. You rise.”
It took over an hour to try on the options. Beaded emerald, royal blue velvet, deep wine satin… each one more glamorous than the last. But when Sofia stepped out in a black off-the-shoulder gown with a subtle slit and crystal detailing at the waist, Candace clapped her hands.
“That’s the one.”
Sofia looked at herself in the mirror. The dress hugged her figure, elegant and timeless. She looked like someone else—confident, powerful. Maybe even… worthy.
The next evening came quickly.
By the time the town car pulled up in front of the grand ballroom, Sofia’s nerves were a storm inside her. Dominic, ever the picture of composure, stepped out first and offered her his arm. She hesitated only a second before slipping her hand into his.
His touch was warm, solid. And unfamiliar.
Flashbulbs exploded as they walked the red carpet. Paparazzi shouted Dominic’s name, reporters leaned over velvet ropes, desperate for a quote or reaction.
“Sofia, smile,” he said under his breath, his mouth barely moving.
She obeyed, lifting her chin and offering a calm smile to the cameras.
Inside, the ballroom sparkled with chandeliers and glittering gowns. Sofia stayed close to Dominic, remembering her instructions. She was his event coordinator. Nothing more.
But as the night wore on, she noticed the way people stared. Whispers followed them. Curious glances, subtle smirks. They weren’t fools.
A woman with blood-red lips and a tight black dress approached. She smiled sweetly at Dominic, though her eyes narrowed when they flicked to Sofia.
“Dominic. You’ve brought… company.”
Sofia held her breath.
“This is Sofia,” he said evenly. “She works with me.”
The woman’s smile sharpened. “I see. And what exactly does she… coordinate?”
Before he could answer, Sofia stepped forward, her voice calm but confident. “I organize Mr. Stone’s private events. This gala included.”
The woman arched an eyebrow, surprised. “Impressive.”
Dominic glanced at Sofia. For the first time that night, something flickered in his gaze—amusement? Approval?
Later, as they returned to the car, he said nothing. But before she stepped inside, he touched her elbow lightly.
“You handled that well.”
Sofia looked up at him, startled. “Thank you.”
He gave a small nod. “You’re not as soft as you look.”
“And you’re not as cold as you act,” she replied before she could stop herself.
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Only opened the door for her and followed silently inside.
They rode in silence again, but this time, it didn’t feel quite so empty.
- Writer
