Chapter Six – The Ice Prince
498 Words
Elena didn’t see Damian the next day.
Not in the halls. Not in the elevators. Not even a glimpse through the glass walls of his office.
It was as if he had vanished—leaving behind nothing but silence and shadows.
She told herself it didn’t matter. That one moment, one lingering touch, didn’t mean anything.
But it did.
Because now every passing second felt like absence.
---
At noon, her team was scheduled to present the first draft of the international proposal. Elena entered the conference room early, her heart calm but cautious. She’d stayed up revising the numbers. She was ready.
Damian arrived last.
Sharp suit. Sharp eyes. No smile.
He took his seat at the head of the table without acknowledging her. His voice was clipped, professional, impersonal.
“Elena,” he said. “You’ll be handling the logistics chart presentation.”
She blinked. “Me?”
He didn’t look at her. “You’ve been working on it. I trust you’ll deliver.”
And just like that, the air turned cold.
She stood, did her best, held her voice steady—but her hands trembled. Not from fear of the room. But from him.
From the way he refused to look at her.
When the meeting ended, she followed him out, catching up beside the elevators.
“Damian—”
“Mr. Vale,” he corrected sharply. “While we’re at work.”
Elena stared at him. “What are you doing?”
His jaw was tight. “What I should have done from the beginning.”
“You’re pushing me away.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what? From a rumor? From yourself?”
“From me,” he said finally. “From this entire world. It chews people up, Elena. You think you're ready for it—but you’re not.”
“Let me decide that,” she said, voice rising.
He looked at her then. Really looked.
And for a flicker, pain cut through the frost in his eyes.
But then the doors opened, and he stepped inside without another word.
---
That night, Elena sat alone in her apartment, curled on the couch, replaying every second of the rooftop moment, every second of the meeting, every word she wished she’d said.
He was right.
His world did chew people up.
But she wasn’t made of paper.
And she wasn’t going to let him burn bridges for her protection.
She would stand in the fire if she had to.
---
The next day, she arrived at work dressed differently.
Gone was the soft pink blouse and ballet flats.
In their place: a sleek black pencil skirt, blazer, and heels sharp enough to leave scars.
She didn’t dress to impress.
She dressed for war.
And when she passed Damian in the hall—and didn’t look at him—he noticed.
Bec
ause he had taught her how to survive.
And now, she was teaching him what it meant to fight.
- Writer
