Contract with the Ice King

Chapter 6: The Morning After

I didn't sleep. Not for a single minute. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the ghost of Damian’s fingers on my bare skin. I could still hear the raw, dangerous edge in his voice when he said he wanted to break the rules. The way he looked at my lips… it was burned into my mind like a brand.

I checked the clock on the bedside table. 6:30 AM. My head ached, and my heart felt like it had been through a marathon. I crawled out of the massive, silk-covered bed, feeling like a tiny bird lost in a golden forest. I needed coffee before I had to face the Ice King again. I needed something to ground me before the acting started all over again.

I walked into the kitchen, hoping he was still locked in his study. But of course, Damian Black didn't seem to need sleep. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He was already dressed in a charcoal suit, looking as sharp and cold as a razor blade. He looked like he hadn't just almost kissed me a few hours ago. He looked like he had never felt an emotion in his entire life.

The air in the room instantly became tight. It was hard to breathe.

"You’re early," he said. He didn't turn around. His voice was back to that flat, professional tone that made my blood boil.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied, my voice sounding raspy. I walked over to the coffee machine, my hands trembling as I reached for a mug. "The bed is too big. And the silence in this place is too loud."

"You'll get used to it," he said, finally turning to look at me. His eyes scanned my face, noting the dark circles under my eyes. "In this world, silence is a luxury, Elena. Most people would kill for the peace you have now."

"Most people want a home, Damian. Not a museum where they aren't allowed to touch anything. Not a cage, no matter how much gold you put on the bars."

He set his cup down on the marble counter with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound echoed through the kitchen. "Is that what you think this is? A cage?"

"Isn't it? Everything in here has a price tag. Everything is for show. Even me."

Damian walked toward me. My heart started that frantic drumming again. I froze, my hand hovering over the coffee machine. Last night flashed through my mind—the wall, the zipper, the heat of his body. He stopped just a few feet away, invading my personal space until I could smell his scent.

"About last night, Elena—"

"You don't have to say it," I interrupted, looking down at the counter. I couldn't look him in the eye. "It was a mistake. A 'lapse in judgment.' That's the corporate term for it, right?"

"I was going to say," he continued, his voice dropping to a low growl that vibrated in my chest, "that you should remember the terms of our deal. Last night was... an anomaly. I don't like anomalies. They interfere with business."

I looked up at him, my eyes stinging with sudden, angry tears. "Don't worry. I have no desire to be an 'anomaly' in your perfect, cold life again. I'll play the part. I'll be the perfect wife for the cameras. I'll smile until my face hurts. But don't you dare touch me like that when nobody is watching. Not ever again."

"Is that a threat, Elena?" He stepped even closer, his shadow completely covering me. His presence was overwhelming, a mix of power and something much more dangerous.

"It’s a boundary, Damian. Something you clearly don't understand."

He reached out, his fingers hovering near my jaw, but he didn't touch me. "You think you’re so different from me. But you took the money. You signed the line. You’re part of this world now, whether you like it or not."

Before I could snap back, the elevator chimed. Marcus stepped out, followed by three women carrying heavy garment bags. The "Show" was starting.

"Mr. Black. Miss Michaels," Marcus said, his face as unreadable as ever. "The stylists are here. The photoshoot for the official announcement starts in forty-five minutes. The light in the living room is perfect."

Damian didn't break eye contact with me for a long beat. He was searching for something in my eyes, but I refused to give it to him. "Fine," he said finally. "Let's get to work. Elena, try to look like you actually like me today. The world is waiting to see the woman who caught the Ice King."

"I'm a great actress, Damian. I've been pretending to be okay since the day my father got sick. This is nothing."

I turned on my heel and followed the stylists toward the guest wing. For the next hour, I was poked, prodded, and painted. They dressed me in a soft cream silk dress that felt like water against my skin. It was elegant, but the back was dangerously low. It felt like a cruel joke after what happened last night.

The photoshoot was grueling. The photographer, a man named Pierre, kept demanding more "intimacy."

"More passion! Damian, put your hand on her waist! Elena, lean into his chest! I want to see the fire! I want to see the hunger that made him marry a commoner!" Pierre shouted, his camera clicking rapidly.

Damian’s hand slid onto my waist. His palm was burning hot through the silk. I felt my breath hitch as he pulled me flush against his side. My breasts pressed against his hard chest, and I could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

"Smile, darling," he whispered into my hair. His breath tickled my ear, sending unwanted shivers down my spine. To Pierre and the assistants, it looked like a romantic, husbandly secret. To me, it was a cold reminder of the contract.

"I hate this," I whispered back, my lips curled into a fake, radiant smile for the lens.

"Then keep hating it," he murmured, his fingers digging slightly into my hip, claiming me in front of everyone. "But do it while looking like the luckiest woman in the world. Look at me, Elena. Now."

I turned my head and looked into his grey eyes. For a split second, the mask slipped. I didn't see the businessman. I saw the man from the night before. I saw the hunger, the darkness, and a strange kind of pain. My heart skipped a beat. I forgot about Pierre. I forgot about the money. For one heartbeat, it felt real.

"Perfect!" Pierre shouted, jumping up and down. "That's the shot! That's the look of a woman who belongs to him!"

As soon as Pierre said the word belongs, Damian pulled away. He let go of me as if I were made of hot coals. He didn't say a word. He walked over to Marcus and started discussing a meeting in London as if I didn't even exist.

I stood there in the middle of the living room, feeling like a used prop. I was wearing a dress that cost more than my old apartment, but I felt worthless.

I was walking back to my room to change when I saw a velvet box on the hallway table. I opened it and found a necklace—a delicate platinum chain with a single, massive blue diamond. It looked like a drop of frozen water.

There was a note inside in sharp, masculine handwriting.

Wear this for the interview tonight. Let them see how much I value my wife. – D.B.

I stared at the diamond. It was beautiful. It was expensive. And it was the coldest thing I had ever seen. He didn't value me. He valued the image of me. I wanted to throw the box across the room, but I knew I couldn't. I was trapped in his world, and the Ice King was just getting started.

I looked toward his study door. It was closed. He was back to his numbers, back to his ice. I walked into my room and slammed the door, the weight of the diamond feeling like a shackle around my neck.