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Chapter One: The Cold Reality
The wind howled across the cliffside of Blackwood Crest while Rowan Mercer dragged a plastic supply sled up the marble steps of the Sterling manor. The temperature had plummeted to negative fifty five degrees Celsius, leaving his fingers black with frostbite and his feet numb inside his boots.
The heavy oak door cracked open, and Genevieve Sterling slipped through the narrow gap before the warmth could escape. She did not offer him a hand. She grabbed the collar of his thermal parka, pulled a pair of steel utility shears from her pocket, and sliced down the front seam.
She ripped the coat from his shoulders to carry it inside. She draped the thick fabric over her biological son Torin, who was lounging by the roaring hearth sipping hot tea. Torin had complained of a dry cough earlier that morning, and Genevieve deemed his comfort more valuable than Rowan's life.
"Let me sleep by the mudroom radiator," Rowan begged, his teeth cracking together as the wind bit into his exposed skin.
Genevieve turned back to the doorway. She raised her riding boot and planted the heel squarely in his chest, sending him tumbling down the frozen gravel steps.
"A night in the sleet will temper the foster mutt," Torin called out from the warmth of the living room.
Genevieve shut the door and locked the deadbolt. Rowan dragged himself back up the stairs to press his face against the courtyard glass. His lungs crystalized as the polar storm buried him alive, and he watched them laugh by the fire, swearing an oath of ruin before his heart stopped beating.
Rowan gasped for air and shot up in bed. He clawed at his chest, finding no ice and no freezing wind tearing at his skin.
He looked around his attic bedroom. The calendar on his desk read October eighteenth, exactly twenty days before the polar collapse would wipe out the region. He was breathing, and he was alive.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs before Genevieve called his name from the first floor, ordering him to come down.
Rowan walked down the staircase and stepped into the living room. Torin sat on the leather sofa with Nerida Finch nestled comfortably in his lap. She was wearing Torin's gold signet ring on her left hand.
Genevieve stood by the fireplace holding a cup of coffee. She offered a tight smile.
"We need to discuss the future," Genevieve said. "Nerida comes from a prestigious bloodline, and her status belongs with a true Sterling heir."
She waited for his reaction, expecting Rowan to drop to his knees and plead for his relationship.
Rowan looked at the three of them, feeling nothing but cold clarity.
"Congratulations," Rowan said with a smirk. "You are welcome to my second hand laundry, Torin."
Torin dropped his arm from Nerida's waist. Nerida flushed red and opened her mouth to speak, but the shock kept her silent.
"Since we are cleaning house," Rowan continued, his voice steady. "Our informal wardship ends today, and I am dropping the Sterling name right now."
