Chapter 2: The Ice Fortress
646 Words
Vivian’s POV
The wrought-iron gates of Blackwood Manor opened slowly, looking more intimidating than welcoming. Vivian held her old leather duffel bag tightly as she looked out from the black car Damian had sent. The estate was huge, with perfect lawns, dark woods, and a strange, empty quiet. It was beautiful, but it felt lifeless. "We are here, Mrs. Blackwood," the driver said, his voice polite but distant. Hearing the name made Vivian shiver. Just three days ago, she was a daughter struggling to pay hospital bills. Now, she was tied to New York’s most ruthless man. The driver opened her door, and Vivian stepped into the cold evening. She barely noticed the marble pillars before the front doors opened. A tall, older woman with gray hair in a bun stood there, dressed in a spotless black suit and watching Vivian with a cold stare. "You must be Vivian," she said, her voice sharp, eyes on Vivian’s worn bag. "I am Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper. Mr. Blackwood is at the office. He told me to show you to your room." "Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Vivian said, trying to be polite. "It's nice to meet you." "Save the pleasantries, girl," Mrs. Gable cut her off, turning away. "Follow me. This house has rules, and I do not tolerate disorder."
Vivian swallowed her frustration and followed. They walked through a grand foyer, up a winding staircase, and down a dim hallway lined with expensive art but no family photos. Mrs. Gable stopped at heavy double doors and opened them. The room was big, decorated in dark, masculine colors. A king-sized bed took up most of the space, and a walk-in closet was filled with rows of Damian’s designer suits. "Wait," Vivian said, her heart pounding. "There must be a mistake. This is Mr. Blackwood’s bedroom. Mrs. Gable gave a cold smile. "There is no mistake. Mr. Blackwood’s grandfather and the media are watching. Did you expect a private suite for thirty million dollars? You sleep here in his bed. Before Vivian could say anything, Mrs. Gable left, closing the doors with a sharp click. Alone, Vivian sat on the edge of the bed, letting the reality sink in. Hours passed as darkness filled the room. She sat in silence, knees to her chest, not wanting to turn on the lights. Suddenly, the doorknob turned. Damian walked in, loosening his tie, looking tired but focused. He didn’t say anything, just took off his jacket and got ready for bed. Vivian stood, pressing herself against the headboard. "Damian, Mrs. Gable said we have to share this room." "The contract says we have to play our roles perfectly," Damian replied, his voice steady. "My grandfather’s lawyers will check on us tomorrow. If they see separate bedrooms, the deal is off, and your father goes to jail." He leaned in, his face close. "Yes, you sleep in my bed. But don't look so scared. I told you, I don't touch business partners." He went into the bathroom, and soon the sound of the shower filled the room. Vivian let out a breath, changed into pajamas, and slipped under the covers, staying on the edge of the bed. Twenty minutes later, Damian came back, wearing only sweatpants. He ignored her, got into bed, and the silence grew tense. Vivian couldn’t sleep, too aware of him nearby. Damian’s phone rang, breaking the quiet. He answered, his voice rough. A frantic woman’s voice cried through the speaker. "Damian! Oh my God, Damian, please help me! I’m back in New York. They’re following me again. You promised you would protect me!" Damian froze, panic showing on his face. He sat up, his voice urgent. "Chloe? Where are you right now?" Vivian’s heart dropped. Chloe, the woman Damian had loved and lost. Damian threw on his shirt and rushed out, leaving Vivian alone in the dark.
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