Chapter 2: Ice Prince

With enough force to shake the floor under my feet, the door slammed behind me. The air in my nostrils hung in my throat as I spun around

With their arms crossed over their wide chests, two burly men in black suits stood guard in front of the exit. Their unwavering, lifeless stares made it immediately obvious that I wasn't leaving in that manner.

With my heart hammering between my ribs, I slowly turned around. A few steps away, the man from the plane stood with an unreadable look. He observed me as though I were a savage animal he had captured, debating whether to shoot or tame it.

"Who are you?" His voice was low, clipped, and razor-sharp as he repeated the question.

All of my instincts told me to lie. to sprint. To combat. However, I elevated my chin, which was not what I had intended to do.

"I informed you. I own that necklace.

He smiled slowly and without humour. It wasn't nice. It was the kind of grin that comes before catastrophe. Like in movies, right before the bad guy shoots the victim.

"And you believe that makes it acceptable to enter my home?" he inquired.

My throat became parched. I wanted to yell that I wasn't the culprit here and that this wasn't fair. However, his calm, patient, and deadly demeanour told me that words would not save me at this point.

At his whispered signal, the guards moved closer, and I staggered back in fear.

"No, hold on." One of them grasped my wrist so firmly that I winced as I started.

Without giving us a sidelong glance, the man commanded, "Search her."

I kicked fiercely as I thrashed in their grasp, but they moved like well-trained machines—quick, accurate, and unconcerned. They got my wallet, phone, and bag in a matter of seconds. After scowling at my phone, one of them threw everything on a table next to the necklace.

Picking up the jewellery between two gloved fingers, the man approached. He carefully turned it, examining it as though it were a threat. Something tainted.

The tiny tracker buried behind the pendant was then visible to him.

His eyes darkened and his face changed.

"You arrived ready," he remarked quietly.

"What? No, that's not the case—it's for me! I lunged forward and blurted, but before I could get to him, the guard pulled me back.

He raised the necklace and allowed its chain to spin slowly. The cold, mocking gleam of metal caught the light.

"A lovely toy. "Wise," he said. "To follow me into my own home?"

"I didn't follow you!" With my voice breaking under the strain of panic, I yelled. "I was trying to locate my necklace! I own it!

He gave me a serious look for the first time. Not via me. At me.

And that was worse somehow.

His stir felt like a blast of frozen CO2 underneath my skin, chilling me to the marrow.

He said, "Lie to me once more and see what happens."

I went cold.

I wouldn't be able to get out of here alive with one wrong word. Not tonight, perhaps. Perhaps never. However, it would occur. Somewhere in the dark. Somewhere I would never be discovered.

My heart was pounding as I swallowed hard.

I muttered, "I lost it on the plane." "I promise. My granny owned it.

There was a flash in his eyes. Perhaps. Or a recollection. Then, however, it disappeared, to be replaced by something colder: calculation.

Without turning to face me, he gave the guards a nod.

He commanded, "Lock her up." "And bring me all that we discover about her."

The guards acted without hesitation. They took hold of me and pulled me out of the room. As we proceeded down interminable marble hallways with golden doors and massive paintings of stern, forgotten men, my heart pounded against my breast.

It sounded like a countdown to something terrible with each step.

They locked the door behind me after pushing me into a room. It was tidy but compact. A bed. In the corner is a red camera that blinks. Nothing more.

Officially, I was a prisoner.

My chest rose and fell quickly as I paced the room. He believed me to be a spy. I installed the tracker, he believed.

He was mistaken.

Truth, however, was irrelevant in his world. Survival was the only thing that did.

I gripped the thin blanket tightly in my fists while sitting on the edge of the bed. I realised that fighting my way out was not an option. I was aware that I would never make it past the corridor if I attempted to flee. I had to maintain my composure. I had to find a method to demonstrate that I posed no threat.

However, how?

The camera steadily blinked at me. I turned it off. It continued to blink. Naturally.

Hours went by. One maid entered, expressionless and mute. She placed a sandwich and a glass of water down and walked away silently.

I ate slowly. I required strength, not because I was hungry. My stomach churned, but I sipped the water.

The night became deeper outside. The gentle flutter of shoes on polished floors and murmurs behind walls kept the mansion alive.

I sat close to the door and listened.

Footsteps approached.

Gentle and in control.

I held my breath while the keys jingled.

They made it through.

Not quite yet.

Not him.

My heart wouldn't slow down, though. There was still risk. All it did was wait.

It took a long time for the lock to click.

The door opened with a squeak.

He entered.

By themselves.

The plane man. From the balcony. From the unshakeable nightmare.

He brought no guards. He did not require them. The room was thick with his presence alone, like smoke.

He shut the door quietly and definitively behind him. My bones rang at the sound of the lock snapping back into position.

His hands were in his coat pockets as he approached me. Be calm. Measured. Time seemed to bow down to him.

He remarked, "You've been quiet."

I remained silent. What was the purpose?

He examined me in the same methodical, dispassionate manner as someone would examine a chessboard, figuring out every move that could be made. Finally, he inclined his head.

“You’re either very stupid,” he said, “or very brave.”

“I’m not stupid,” I answered, my voice harder than I meant it to be.

His smile came back—the lazy, deadly one that never reached his eyes.

“I didn’t say brave was better,” he whispered.

He withdrew something from his pocket—my jewellery. It dangled from his fingertips like bait, the small tracker still glowing quietly.

“You lost something,” he remarked.

I clenched my jaw and remained silent.

His voice was smooth and gentle as he went on, "You entered my world, little thief." "And everything has a cost here."

The air appeared to thicken as he moved closer, closing the distance between us. Like the weight of a storm pushing in right before lightning struck, his presence was oppressive.

"You have two options," he stated in a commanding yet low voice. "Come to be mine."

My thoughts faltered.

What?

"Work beneath my house. Follow my instructions. "Remain in my line of sight," he said, as though providing a job and being imprisoned were synonymous.

"Or," he added, approaching me furthermore till I could smell steel and leather, "disappear."

My chest constricted. Turn into his? Live as his servant, what? A puppet? Ownership?

Or perish?

He moved closer till I could make out his jaw's faint scar.

His gloved hand lifted my chin, compelling me to confront his icy grey stare straight on.

He stated, "You have ten seconds to decide."

He communicated with a calming voice. Not dangerous. À Not upset. Just the last one.

In my imagination, the seconds passed.

Then his lips were near my ear as he pushed forward.

He said, so gently that I almost missed it, "And if you choose wrong, I won't kill you."

Grinning like the devil himself, he withdrew.

"I'll give you to my adversaries."

My heart nearly stopped.

adversaries.

The type of man who didn't enquire. Whoo failed to provide options. Who wouldn't require an explanation?

He said, "You have five seconds left."

Four.

Three.

Two.

My throat shut.

And the only option left to me was—