Loving the Cold CEO

Chapter Three- Headlines & Heartbeats

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Ayana's PoV

The morning light on the Upper East Side always came too harshly, like truth after a dream. The green silk sheets were cool against my skin, the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke clinging to me. For a moment, I believed I was still in his arms as memories of our dance and the way I came undone afterward, to thoughts of him last night filled my mind.

I let out a small sigh, turning to follow the streams of light from my floor-to-ceiling windows. Last night's red gown was on my valet chair, the sequins glowing like embers of Ha Joon and I that had woken me from my sleep.

My body remembered the rhythm- the steady glide of Ha Joon's hand on my back, the warmth of it on my skin, the way his breath brushed against my ear. Much as I tried to, I couldn't erase how his gaze made me feel. The smell of him lingered on my skin, sandalwood and smoke.

I need to stop thinking about him, or I'm going to lose my mind...if I haven't already...

The rhythmic buzzing of my phone on the nightstand pulled me from my thoughts, the glow of a notification pulling me to pick it up.

The sight of the headlines made me instantly regret my decision to check.

Carrington Heiress and the Cold CEO: Sparks on the Ballroom Floor.

A photograph was plastered directly below it: my hand caught midair in his, his head slightly bent toward me, our gazes locked.

To everyone else, it looked like romance.

To a trained eye, it was so much more.

To me, it was a disaster.

Another notification pinged in at that moment, the sound as sharp as a slap.

Aunt Viola's Assistant 2: Damage Control Meeting. 10:00 am sharp.

Of Course.

Sarcasm did little to dull the sting behind my eyes or the stress migraine clawing its way to the surface.

"What a f*****g morning..."

I murmured to myself, pulling on my silk robe.

My thoughts, traitorous as ever, drifted to Ha Joon. He was probably halfway across the city already, extinguishing the fire my aunt and I had set last night. His public image was pristine, deliberate and disciplined- the very definition of control. Scandal was beneath him, or rather, never allowed near him.

Prion Group, with its Seoul headquarters and centuries-old legacy, valued decorum. They told stories only on their own terms. Aimi’s defiance had earned her enemies in that world, but Ha Joon, ever the dutiful grandson and heir, had played his role to perfection.

Until last night.

Now, because of one damned dance, his name was splashed across every tabloid headline, twisting a moment of restraint into something intimate. I could only imagine the boardroom- the whispers, the fury, the disappointment.

Regret burned hot in my chest. I reached for my phone, intent on calling him, on saying something, anything, when it buzzed again.

My mother's face flashed on the screen, a beautiful smile on her lips. They were calling from Paris, the latest stop in their travels.

"Good morning, sweetheart!"

My mother's voice was sunlight itself, lilting, bright, and a little loud over the speaker. Her British accent was more pronounced as it always was when she was excited- a similarity we apparently both shared.

Layla Carrington is the kind of woman who makes people pause when she enters a room, not because she tries to command attention, but because her beauty is timeless and her poise is unmatched. Born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, she grew up surrounded by warmth, community, and her family's fierce work ethic. At twenty-two, she stepped onto the international stage as a model and very quickly became the face of her era.

When she was crowned Miss World at the age of twenty-six, her life changed forever. It was during her victory tour that she met Jeremy Carrington, the charming, British, and brilliant young heir of the Carrington dynasty- my father. Their chemistry was instant, as she always makes clear whenever she recounts their love story, the kind of electric pull that doesn’t ask for permission, only recognition. Within a year, they were married in a ceremony that graced every magazine cover across continents.

She eventually retired from modeling to build a family, but she never truly left the spotlight. Her elegance, philanthropy, and effortless style cemented her as a global icon even long after stepping off the runway. She now lives a globe-trotting life with my father, their love for each other so consuming that it often eclipses everything else.

She loves Tayen and I, but her affection is expressed from afar, gentle and well-meaning yet undeniably distant...

"We've just seen the photos! mon dieu, you looked exquisite! The entire restaurant stopped when they flashed across the screen. And that crimson gown?! Absolutely divine!”

"Thank you, Mum. It's one of my designs."

"Naturally! Our Ayana, always creating art. We're so proud of you, baby. You would put many Ateliers at Triangle d'Or to shame. I wouldn't be surprised if they reach out personally for collaborations."

Pride. Such an easy word.

It was what they gave me instead of presence.

"That's a bit much... but thank you, mother. Still in Paris?"

I brushed my curly hair off my face, admiring the bright smile on my mother's lips as she panned the camera to show me the scenic view of vineyards in the distance.

"In Montmartre. Your father insists on visiting every vineyard within fifty kilometers. We've been meeting with the Valmonts. They're expanding their fashion investments and seem very keen on having the Winner of Monde's Model of the Year, three years in a row, be the face of their newest campaign."

My father's soft chuckle followed.

"Good morning, darling. You were the talk of our dinner last night. Even the Valmont's son knew you. He said you outshone every socialite in London and New York combined."

Pierre Valmont and I had met at certain upper society events. Though younger, in his early twenties, he was kind and considerate with a seemingly good head on his shoulders. I smiled faintly at his comment.

"That was nice of him to say."

"And Ha Joon Hattori,"

My mother interjected, fanning herself as she playfully commented on the man who was still lingering in my thoughts and my heart. I felt the warmth that always coursed through me whenever he was mentioned.

"Such a handsome man! Aimi's brother, isn't he? We met him years ago at the Busan Charity Summit. Impeccable manners. And what a presence! Very...controlled."

My father's chuckle sounded across the room once more.

"Controlled? The man looked like he'd burn the room down if someone else touched you."

"Dad!"

A nervous laugh escaped me even as I tried and failed to keep my emotions in check.

"Oh, let me tease, darling."

His voice was full of warmth as he continued.

"We were just dancing. Nothing more."

I explained away, watching as my parents shared a secret smile that I knew all too well.

"I must say, controlled suits him less than captivated."

My mother's smile was full of mischief. She was mining for more information, but the distance between us was too great for me to truly open up.

"He's an impressive man. The Hattori-Kang family as well. They are discreet, and I admire that about them."

Father commented, seeming contemplative even as we both nodded. Not much was known about Ha Joon's family, but their prestige was known all around. Their power was vast, which was why the whispers of a darker legacy had also spread. Most of upper society knew about it, but none were brave enough to talk about it openly and spread unfounded rumors.

Their rumors are not completely unfounded...but they don't need to know that...

"He carries himself differently, doesn’t he? There’s something quiet in him. I like that. You looked… unscripted with him."

My mother's voice was soft, reflective as surprise coursed through me.

She never used that word.

"You looked happy. We haven't seen that in a while."

Father added quietly, both of them watching me closely. The lump in my throat rose fast as I looked away from them, too scared of showing them what I truly felt.

"It was just a dance. The foundation raised a lot. That's what truly matters."

My soft reply was met with warm smiles from both my parents.

"You're so much like your father. Always deflecting praise into purpose."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

Father teased her, the familiar warmth of their love and playfulness threading through the line.

"We're proud of you, my darling. Truly. We will be back in New York next month for your engagement dinner. Your Aunt Viola is quite excited. The invitations have been sent out already."

"It feels a little too...soon. But I guess young people don't like to wait, do they? We are happy for you, my darling."

My parents grinned at each other as I managed a small, practiced but hollow smile.

"Stay graceful, Aya. The world is watching you, but you always make it look so easy."

My mother's voice sounded wistful, and I couldn't help the way my heart hurt.

"She gets that from you, Mara."

Father chuckled, wrapping his arms warmly around his wife.

"Hardly. She's better...we'll talk again soon, my love. Please say hello to Viola, will you?"

"I will."

I murmured, but they'd already hung up. The silence was loud in my room as I stared at the darkened screen, a hollow smile frozen in place.

I knew my parents loved me, in their own way.

They just did it from an ocean away when all I needed was them here.

***