The Ice King’s Rules
997 Words
Some people build walls. Damien Vale sharpened his into weapons.
Lia Carter woke up to a sharp buzz of her phone vibrating aggressively against her nightstand. Groaning, she rolled over and squinted at the screen.
7:01 a.m.
“The driver will pick you up at 9:00. Dress modestly, elegantly. No red lipstick. – D.V.”
No “Good morning,” no please or thank you. Just an order. Cold, clipped, and perfectly Damien.
Lia threw the phone back on the bed and groaned into her pillow.
She had half a mind to ghost him. But the signed contract weighed on her chest heavier than any moral hesitation. Her mother’s medical debt had disappeared from her credit report yesterday, just like he promised.
Which meant the Ice King held up his end.
Now, she had to hold up hers.
The car waiting outside was an unmarked luxury SUV with blacked-out windows. The kind that screamed, ‘Don’t ask questions.’
Damien was already inside when she opened the door. Crisp dark suit, shirt collar pristine, not a single wrinkle in sight. He looked like he’d been awake for hours.
He barely glanced at her. “You’re late.”
She slid in and slammed the door shut. “It’s 9:01.”
“Sixty-one seconds too long.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you nitpick your stock prices the same way?”
“I do.”
“That explains a lot.”
He didn’t even smile.
As the car merged onto the main road, Lia took a deep breath. “Where are we going?”
“To my penthouse. We need to go over the rules.”
“Rules? For fake dating?”
He turned toward her now, eyes like polished onyx. “This isn’t a casual arrangement. There are press events. A fundraiser. A board meeting. My mother’s engagement party. You’ll be by my side on all of them.”
“Fun.”
“And dangerous. If you slip up, I don’t just get embarrassed. I lose investor confidence.”
“God forbid the Ice King shows emotion,” she muttered.
He arched a brow. “Emotions are liabilities. Let’s begin.”
The penthouse sat at the top of a high-rise overlooking the Charles River. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Polished marble. Everything is minimal and cold.
Like him.
Damien moved like he owned every square inch. Which, technically, he did.
He handed her a thick folder as they settled at a long glass dining table.
“That’s your homework,” he said. Names. Faces. Relationships. You’ll memorize them before Friday.”
Lia flipped through photos of smiling strangers. Socialites, CEOs, politicians. All part of Damien Vale’s glittering, ruthless world.
She swallowed hard. “Why me again?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Because you have nothing to gain by betraying me.”
Cold. Accurate.
“Now,” he said, sliding a fresh sheet of paper in front of her, “the rules.”
Rule #1: Know the Story
“We met at a bookstore on Charles Street. I asked for a recommendation. You handed me The Night Circus. I said your voice was better than the author’s.”
She blinked. “You really read my reading history?”
He tilted his head. “I researched my investment.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re mine—for now.”
Rule #2: Public Affection
“We hold hands, you smile at me like I invented oxygen. We sit close. We whisper. You laugh when I say something dry. And occasionally, you let me kiss your cheek.”
Lia snorted. “What if I puke?”
“Aim away from the cameras.”
Rule #3: Private Distance
“You don’t ask about my family. You don’t touch me outside the role. You don’t catch feelings.”
Lia tilted her head. “What if you catch feelings?”
He didn’t blink. “I won’t.”
Cold. So cold.
As the hours passed, he drilled her on everything: his assistant’s name, the board member he hated, the politician whose hand she shouldn’t shake too long.
It felt less like preparing for a relationship and more like doing espionage.
At lunch, a personal chef served grilled sea bass with lemon glaze.
Lia took one bite and moaned.
Damien looked up sharply.
“Relax,” she said. “I wasn’t faking that.”
“Good. Don’t fake anything unless I tell you to.”
She rolled her eyes. “Charming as ever.”
By early evening, they were seated in the lounge, reviewing weekend events.
Damien suddenly paused and looked at her. Really looked.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he said.
She frowned. “Should I be?”
“Most people are.”
“I’ve seen men die in hospital beds. Your ego doesn’t scare me.”
His lips quirked. “That’s why you’re perfect.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t fall for me, Vale.”
“Not in the contract.”
But something flickered in his eyes. Something not made of ice.
Just as she stood to leave, he followed her to the elevator.
“The party is in three days. Formal. My mother will be there.”
Lia hesitated. “What’s she like?”
He paused. “Picture a woman who can gut you with a compliment.”
“Can’t wait.”
He handed her a black card. “Use this for your dress. No red. No sequins. She hates when women shine more than her.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“She isn’t. But she’ll pretend to like you. You’ll pretend to like her. And I’ll pretend to care.”
The elevator dinged.
Lia stepped inside.
Damien leaned closer, just enough to brush her ear. “Remember, Miss Carter." We’re only pretending.”
Her heart betrayed her with a flutter.
She didn’t look back.
But something told her this man was dangerous in more ways than the contract warned.
And this game? It was only just beginning.
- Writer
