Steel and Seduction

Chapter five

It had taken Karina what felt like forever to remove the tablets from their blister packaging, cracking each one open before carefully arranging them into a mandala-like design.

She had adjusted the pattern, moving the pieces around like a child who couldn't decide how to play with their food.

But eventually, she realized she didn’t want to end her life—she just didn’t want to keep living.

No, that wasn’t quite right. What she truly wanted was to never have existed at all. Maybe if she had a fairy godmother, she could come and take her life away, giving it to someone who truly needed it.

An equitable trade. Karina would vanish, and someone else would get to live.

"I need to take a Zoom call," Snow said, glancing up from his laptop. He sat at the desk in the bedroom while Karina sat in the armchair in the corner, staring blankly out the window.

Karina gave a small, indifferent nod. He hadn’t left the room since he found her little arrangement on the coffee table, working at the desk and sleeping on the sofa. From what she gathered, Snow owned a company—or at least, part of one.

She recognized one of the voices on the call as the man who had flushed her mandala down the toilet. Zya. The poised, striking man with high cheekbones and amber eyes.

The other two voices were unfamiliar, their accents distinct: one Scottish, the other from the Home Counties, just like Karina and Snow.

The figures they were tossing around were staggering. Millions upon millions, and Karina was sick of hearing the word. Sick with envy. Sick with resentment.

Had she really sunk so low that she resented anyone doing better than her?

Yes. Yes, she had.

Exhaustion overtook her thoughts. Karina closed her eyes, curling into the plush, ridiculously expensive armchair, letting out a long, weary sigh.

The images of those poor women flashed through her mind like ghastly, horrifying fireworks. She grimaced, trying to shake the thoughts away.

She flinched when Snow’s large hand settled gently on her shoulder, snapping her out of her reverie.

"Are you all right?" he asked. His laptop was shut on the desk, his business call clearly finished.

"Fine," she muttered flatly.

Snow glanced at his watch, a heavy, luxurious piece with a black leather strap and an emerald green face to match his eyes. "Come outside with me. I want to show you something."

Karina felt like a ghost drifting through Snow’s house. Aside from her trip to the cellars the morning after her arrival, she hadn’t ventured out of the bedroom.

Snow guided her down the light-filled, pale golden hallway, leading her down a sweeping marble staircase that ran alongside tall arched windows, offering a view of the garden.

If it could be called a garden—it looked more like a golf course, with patches of mature trees scattered across perfectly striped lawns, a look that must have taken hours for some poor gardener to create. Though, now that she thought about it, the gardener probably wasn’t that poor, considering the work involved.

It was the kind of house Karina had only ever seen while scrolling through online listings, the ones so far beyond her budget they were laughable. It used to depress her, yet she did it anyway—a brief escape from her misery.

When Snow opened the front door, Karina felt a little piece of herself die when she saw the grand columns adorning the front porch. Of course, there were columns.

Her brow furrowed as she looked beyond them. A pink and white ice cream van was parked in Snow’s driveway, complete with playful illustrations and photos of the various ice creams it offered.

"Why is there a Mr. Whippy van here?" she asked, bewildered.

Snow’s grin was pure mischief, a crooked reminder of the infatuation she’d had with him as a twelve-year-old. "It’s here for you."

The middle-aged ice cream man leaned on the window with a casual ease. "What’ll it be?"

"A double ninety-nine for me," Snow said, turning to Karina with a smile. "With two flakes."

"A ninety-nine for me, please. Just a single one," Karina replied, a hint of shyness coloring her voice.

"With a flake?" the ice cream man asked.

Karina nodded quietly, feeling the warmth of Snow’s hand slipping into hers.

"Just like old times?" he murmured.

"When you used to pick me up from school," she played along, pretending that his touch didn’t make her heart race.

Snow would always wait for her at the back gate of her school; come rain or shine, he was there. Vincent, on the other hand, was often off somewhere, causing trouble, but Snow was someone she could always count on.

"And in the summer, we’d stop at the ice cream van on our walk back home."

Snow took their ice creams, handing hers to her. Their fingers brushed for a moment, and Karina couldn't help but feel her breath catch, her mind drifting back to that night—the way he'd touched her then.

The feelings he’d stirred when he pressed her up against the wall, his body pressing into hers.

That version of Snow had seemed to vanish once he realized she hadn’t been involved in her father’s activities. Instead, she had slipped back into the role of the ‘best friend’s younger sister.’

They walked along the Stark path she’d noticed earlier, passing the picturesque pond filled with orange-and-white koi. As they neared, the fish swam to the side of the pond, mouths agape in their search for food.

"Have they been fed?" she asked, glancing at Snow as they walked past the tall hedge surrounding the pond. "They look starving."

"They're sneaky little liars," he said, finishing his giant ice cream in a few quick bites. "Don’t believe a word they tell you."

Snow stepped through an archway carved into the hedge, leading them into the deeper woods. The winding path was lined with earthy moss, its scent filling the air, while pine needles scattered across the soft ground.

After a few minutes of quiet walking, a large tree appeared ahead, and Karina understood why Snow had brought her here.

A swing hung from one of its sturdy branches, swaying gently in the summer breeze.

Snow grasped the frayed ropes attached to the thick wooden seat, dark spots dotting his knuckles. "One push. For old time’s sake."

Too tired to argue, Karina sat down. "Cone?" she offered, holding it up to him.

"Do you still not eat them?"

Karina mumbled something about sugar-scented cardboard. It was a battle she would always fight.

His eyes crinkled in amusement, but he accepted the cone without a word, devouring it in three swift bites. "You're a philistine," he teased, placing the first gentle push against the small of her back.

The ropes bit into her palms, but Karina gripped them tightly as she began to swing.

The tips of her worn sneakers brushed the soft earth beneath the swing, but all she could focus on was the constant, comforting pressure of Snow’s hands on her back.

"Didn't you say one push?" she teased quietly.

"Mm, one push for old times' sake," he agreed with a grin. "I didn’t specify what the rest would be for."

She nearly gathered the energy to roll her eyes. A true businessman. "I'm surprised you didn’t go into politics with that mindset."

"A boy who went straight from foster care to prison for manslaughter? I’m sure I’d do wonderfully mingling with the Old Etonians who've never had to do a thing for themselves."

She recalled the call he’d been on earlier. "Weren’t you discussing buying a company for £120 million just this morning?"

Snow’s pushes halted, and Karina allowed her feet to drag her to an uneven stop. "I didn’t think you were paying attention," he muttered, moving around to lean against the tree’s broad trunk.

She shrugged. "I wasn’t, not really." Karina exhaled softly, pressing her lips together. "How did you end up with so much money?"

"Luck, and meeting Zya Stark, his brother Matthew, and their cousin Kellan."

Karina finally voiced the question that had been nagging her. "What happened to the women in the photos?"

His emerald eyes flickered for a moment. "We're looking for them. We’ve been questioning your father since he got here."

So, he was still alive. "We, as in... you and Snow?"

My apologies! Here's a more refined edit of the passage with more distinct changes:

"Mostly." Snow folded his arms over his chest, his gaze dropping to her as he frowned.

"So, you're Snow Stark now?" Was Snow Harper gone for good?

"Snow Harper died with Vincent, kitten."

The words hit her like a sharp pain in her chest. "Why?"

"When I was in prison, I was more isolated than I’ve ever been," he said, his expression darkening as his eyes wandered. A tattoo peeked above his collar. "I was lucky to have Zya as a cellmate. His mother, Scarlett... She did more for me than any foster family or social worker ever could. Eighteen months into my sentence, they offered me their name, and I accepted."

Karina planted her feet against the ground and gently nudged the swing. "When did you get out of prison?"

"Four years ago."

Her jaw dropped. "How did you go from being in prison to owning"—she gestured toward the house—"this... Buckingham f*****g Palace in just four years?"

"Zya, Kellan, and I were incarcerated. Matthew was managing the holding company from the outside."

She blinked. "That doesn’t even remotely answer my question." Just as she heard voices in the distance, her attention turned left.

Two men were strolling casually up the path. One had binoculars hanging from his neck, and the other was gripping two walking poles.

Ramblers. Karina had occasionally seen them trekking through the forest that bordered their estate—moving briskly and steering clear of teenagers on mountain bikes as though they were an epidemic.

Snow pushed himself off the tree trunk, his face hardening into an unfriendly scowl. "Gentlemen. This is private property."

The two men exchanged a glance. "Our apologies," said the one with the binoculars, pulling a map from his pocket.

"We seem to be a bit lost. Could you point us in the right direction?"

"Back the way you came," Snow grumbled. "Where are you headed?"

"Broadwood's Tower near Box Hill."

"Then you're on the wrong side of the A24," he said, gesturing to the map. "You're here, on this path. If you follow it to the North Downs Way..."

Karina looked up just in time to see the other man drop his walking poles and pull a wickedly sharp knife from his jacket.

She shouted out a jumbled warning, but Snow was already reacting. He spun left, narrowly evading the s***h of the blade, then yanked the attacker's arm downward with brutal force.

But while Snow had gained the upper hand on one attacker, the second man lunged in with his own weapon, aiming for the kill.

She had barely seen the bright sunlight flicker off the second attacker's knife before she jumped into action.

Her father may be a neglectful addict, but he had also been a keen boxer back in the day, and was still an avid follower of the sport now.

Curling her hand into a fist, just like her father taught her, Karina took advantage of the attackers' focus on Snow.

With all her strength, she launched herself at the second one. Or, more specifically, at his liver.

Karina grunted as her shoddy, untrained punch connected. The impact sent a jolt up her elbow, but she ignored the pain, readying herself for another punch.

But the second attacker collapsed where he stood, his knees caving in and his arms coming around his waist. He hit the forest floor with an agonised groan.

A smile flashed onto her face momentarily. Had that actually worked?

But there was no time to contemplate her victory. Snow, distracted by the sound of her grunt, turned.

A mistake.

The man he'd been fighting, his nose bloodied, took the opportunity as soon as it presented itself, aiming a lethal kick at Snow's right leg, sending an awful, terrible crack through the air.

Despite his trousers.covering the skin beneath, the sight of his broken calf, bent at almost a right angle, nearly had her retching.

Somehow, Snow barely reacted, clearly running on nothing but adrenaline. As soon as he hit the ground, he snapped up the knife the second attacker had dropped and plunged it into the incapacitated man's throat.

And then Karina made a mistake of her own. She cried out at the sight of Snow murdering the second man, realising too late that the first attacker's attention was no longer on Snow, but on her.

"Run!" Snow bellowed, attempting to get back onto his feet-his foot, his snapped calf swaying as he moved.

Fueled by adrenaline and fear, Karina sprinted with every ounce of strength she had. Tree branches lashed at her, tugging at her hair.

Glancing over her shoulder, Karina’s heart skipped in terror when she saw the man closing in on her, his steps growing faster. Her breath came in ragged gasps, a sharp stitch driving into her side.

A desperate whimper escaped her as she burst through the treeline, coming face to face with a peaceful meadow—no shelter in sight. Without a moment's hesitation, she—

Karina cried out as the man slammed into her, pinning her to the ground and forcing the breath from her lungs.

She struggled to scream for help, but he flipped her onto her back, his hands gripping her throat with such force she feared he might snap her spine. His knee dug painfully into her ribs.

Her legs flailed in vain, only managing to pound her heels against the earth.

Her eyes burned, tears streaming into her hairline. Karina struggled to breathe, a thin, labored sound escaping her throat.

Fading. Everything was fading—the pain, the fear. The nothingness stretched, pulling her toward an endless darkness. Hadn’t she wished for this?

Just as her vision began to dim, the man’s body trembled, his eyes widening, pupils dilating. Blood started to drip from his open mouth.

At first slowly, then faster, until a steady stream poured onto her chest. Was he... drooling blood?

Inside his mouth, something glinted silver in the sunlight. Something beautiful.

The suffocating grip around her throat loosened bit by bit. Karina sucked in a deep, painful breath, and then another.

With every inhale, her surroundings began to return: the sunlight, the meadow, the trees, and the agony around her neck.

Snow stood behind the attacker, a grim, satisfied grin on his face. The man’s lips hung open.

The flow of blood had become a river, and on top of his tongue, the tip of the blade Snow had driven through the back of his head rested.