Claimed by the Ice Heir

Mind Games & Velvet Strings

The Grand Café felt suffocating. It was the kind of place where everyone spoke quietly and politely, even when they were secretly judging or hurting each other.

Sitting across from me was the person who seemed to control the whole room.

Kaelen didn’t just sit there. He had a way of making everyone notice him. His broad shoulders filled out his perfectly fitted dark suit, and his eyes were fixed on me instead of Callan.

“You’re not eating your tartare, Goldie,” Kaelen said. He picked up his wine glass and slowly swirled the red wine inside. “I thought raw beef would be a luxury for a girl who grew up eating salted herring in Bergen.”

His words were meant to remind me that I came from a different world. He said it with a small smile, as if he hadn’t meant anything by it.

“I’m not hungry, Mercer,” I replied. “And I was perfectly fine with the food I grew up eating in Bergen.”

Callan laughed quietly beside me and took a sip of his water.

“Don’t mind him, Goldie. Kaelen is just an arrogant jerk. That’s how he gets when he’s not on the ice.”

Callan’s voice was warm and protective, but he had no idea what was really happening between us. He didn’t notice the way Kaelen looked at me. His eyes briefly dropped to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“It’s not elitism, Callan. It’s an observation,” Kaelen said quietly.

He placed his glass on the table and leaned closer. “Your sister has always been strong,” “Too proud to admit it when something hurts. Look at her. She’s sitting there pretending she belongs in a place where one small dish can cost more than she would normally spend on groceries in a month.”

​The insult hit my chest like a physical weight. Years of hiding my frayed collar cuffs in secondary school, years of studying until my eyes bled just to prove I wasn't lesser, rushed to the surface in a wave of hot, suffocating shame.

​He was doing it on purpose. He was poking at the rawest wound in my soul, testing to see if I would snap, if I would scream, if I would shatter my composure in front of my brother and prove that I was still the fragile, easily broken girl he used to torment.

​Don't give it to him, I told myself violently, forcing the hot sting behind my eyes to dry up. Do not let him see you bleed.

​"Cost doesn't equate to value, Kaelen," I said, my voice coming out remarkably steady, Some things like self-respect and earned merit can't be bought by a Mercer trust fund."

​Callan raised his eyebrows, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his handsome face. "Ouch. She got you there, man."

​Kaelen didn't flinch. He loved this. He loved that I was fighting back. He was poking a caged animal, enjoying the way I bared my teeth.

​"Merit," Kaelen repeated softly, rolling the word around his tongue like a secret. "Is that what you call it? Sitting in my study wing, taking my father's money to help me pass a class I don't care about?"

​"It's a work-study contract, "A job I earned."

​"A job my father handed to you," Kaelen countered instantly, his tone dropping an octave, "You think you're standing on your own two feet, Goldie. But you're standing in my shadow. You've always been in my shadow."

The restaurant around us seemed to bleed away into static. The clinking glasses, the quiet laughter of the diplomats at the next table, Callan’s presence beside me, everything vanished until there was only Kaelen, his broad frame towering over the table, trapping me in a web of psychological warfare.

​He was testing my limits. He was trying to push me to the edge, to force me into revealing the terrifying, electric friction pulling us together.

​Suddenly, underneath the heavy tablecloth, I felt a movement.

​Kaelen’s leather shoe slid forward. The long, broad length of his leg brushed against mine, pressing firmly against my knee.

Every nerve ending in my body firing at once. I tried to pull my leg back, but the table leg blocked me. Kaelen didn't stop. His foot shifted, his heavy boot nudging against my ankle, a slow, deliberate, intensely possessive touch that directly contradicted the cold, mocking words coming out of his mouth.

​"Look at her, Callan," Kaelen said, his eyes holding mine hostage while his leg pressed flush against mine under the table. "She looks like she wants to murder me."

​"Goldie, relax," Callan said, reaching over to pat my shoulder, entirely unaware that his best friend’s leg was currently pressed against his sister’s under the table. "He’s just winding you up. You're taking him too seriously."

​I couldn't speak. My skin was burning where Kaelen was touching me, a chaotic, agonizing clash of rage and an unwanted, terrifying surge of awareness. He was insulting my pride with his tongue while physically marking me as his under the table, right in front of my own brother.

​It was twisted. ​"I'm going to the restroom," I whispered.

​I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping sharply against the hardwood floor. I didn't wait for Callan’s reaction or look at Kaelen’s triumphant smirk. I turned on my heel and practically fled down the dimly lit hallway toward the back of the restaurant.

​I turned on the gold faucet, splashing freezing water onto my face, desperate to wash away the heat, the humiliation, and the suffocating memory of his touch.

​He’s a monster, I thought, gripping the marble until my knuckles turned white. He’s doing this to break me. He wants me to forfeit the contract.

​I dried my face with a paper towel, squared my shoulders, and smoothed down my coat.

​I was ready to go back out there. I was ready to face him.

​I opened the restroom door, a dimly lit service hallway that led to the main dining room.

​A heavy hand suddenly shot out from the shadows, gripping my wrist.

​Before I could gasp, a massive, towering body slammed the door shut behind us, trapping me against the cold wall.

​"Mercer" I gasped, raising my hands to shove his chest.

​Kaelen caught both of my wrists in a single, broad hand, pinning them firmly above my head against the wood. He stepped into my space, his heavy, muscular frame completely pinning me, his hot, ragged breath scorching my lips in the pitch-black darkness.

​"You played well out there, Goldie," Kaelen rasped, his voice a low, terrifying whisper right against my ear. "You held your tongue. You kept your composure."

​"Let me go!" I hissed, my body trembling from the violent surge of adrenaline and raw, dangerous proximity. "Callan is sitting right out there!"

​"I know where he is," Kaelen whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below my jaw right over my faint childhood scar. "And he thinks you're just a brave little girl fighting for her scholarship."

​"So tell me, Goldie," Kaelen breathed, his voice dropping into a dark, "If you're so brave... why is your heart beating like you're terrified I'm about to kiss you... or terrified that I won't?”