CHAPTER FIVE: KAYA Macherson pov

June 3. I spent extra time on my skin that morning. My face was the one thing that still made me money, the one thing worth saving. My favorite serum smelled like citrus and success; I pressed it into my cheeks and tried to believe the mirror.

I drove to the company thinking about Mr. Adams and the last time I’d been there. He could fire me today and I’d be ready to drag him through the mud. I parked, stepped out, and felt someone move up behind me in an instant — a hand pressed a handkerchief over my nose and mouth. I couldn’t fight; the room tilted, my limbs went useless, and the world folded away.

It happened so fast. The darkness tasted like death.

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When I opened my eyes the cold hit me like a fist. My wrists and ankles were bound. My body lay on a block of ice so huge it felt like a pale slab of the Arctic. The air was sharp and my teeth chattered until my jaw ached.

“Is anyone there? Please — help me!” I croaked. My voice was small in the frozen room.

A familiar voice answered, measured and low like gravel. “Finally awake.”

Of course it was Damon.

I twisted where I lay and saw him turning the chair to face me, the lamplight catching the hard planes of his face. The cold made my skin sting. I tried to pull at the ropes; they bit my skin.

“Untie me. This is—” I swallowed. “This is illegal.”

He cocked his head. “I give the orders here. You’re under my mercy, miss…?” He was asking my name.

For a second I toyed with him, a throwback to the old Kaya who flirted to survive. “If you wanted my name or my number, there are more… civil ways to ask. Men usually prefer tea before torture.”

Something like interest flickered across his face.

“Miss?” he repeated.

“Let me go.” I forced a smile and then the cold stole it away. The ice shook under me with every breath. My fingers had gone numb.

He stood, came down to my level, and squatted. Close enough that I could count the tiny ridges in his iris. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“Relax, Damon. Why have you tied me up?” I tried to keep my voice light. A tremor of panic still ran beneath it.

He sucked a breath between his teeth. “I want to know you.”

The words were ridiculous. And dangerous. I laughed because I had to. The laugh frayed when an electric jolt of cold shot through my body and I hissed.

“Talk,” he ordered. “Who are you? How do you know me?”

“That’s a good question,” I said, teeth chattering. “I’ll tell you when you untie me. I’m freezing.”

He leaned in, his expression hardening. “I will only release you when you talk. Or you’ll die frozen.”

Panic skittered across my ribs. “You’ll find out who I am soon enough. Just be patient.”

He grabbed my chin then, not painfully, but with enough force to make my mouth press into an O. “Do you think I can’t find out with a snap of my fingers? I control this city. I can get anything I want.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Then why force it out of me? If you can get anything, why not ask?”

He laughed — a small sound, almost astonished at my nerve. “You’re bold.”

"And you're crazy" I hissed.

I wriggled, trying to free myself. “Did you just call me crazy?”

He blinked as if shocked someone had spoken that to his face. And then — slower than I expected — he walked away.

“Where are you going?” I called after him, breath puffing white.

He didn’t answer. The cold bit deeper. My eyelids fluttered and the world folded. The edges of my sight went dark and something soft and human brushed my shoulders.

I woke with a jerk to Damon’s face hovering over mine, his expression suddenly raw.

“She needs body heat. Call a doctor,” he barked to someone outside the door, voice shaking like a man who hadn’t admitted fear in a long time.

Warmth pressed against my chest — his bare skin, impossibly hot against my frozen bones. He’d peeled off his shirt to press himself against me. For a ridiculous second the old me would have melted right there. The new me had a small smile and buried it fast.

When I came to properly, I was tucked into my own bed at home. There was no bandage, no ice, no Damon. How did he bring me home? What day is it?

It took a moment for June 5 to register.

June 5. The day Father invited Damon to choose a bride. The day they were to sign the treaty that would bind our fortunes. The day the game really began.

I reached for my diary and flipped to the page I wrote June 5 entries.

Dear diary,

You wouldn't believe what happened. I saw the handsome stranger. You know the one I meet at the hospital few days ago. It's really a small world and should I dare say he looked more handsome. His black shirt was ironed and he wasn't and his plack trousers were totally fire. Hus hair was nearly cut and styled and girl his blue eyes. I would die for the. And guess's the biggest news Dad invited him to choose one of his daughters to marry and after taking a quick look at me he chose me.

If it were any other person I would object. I still felt I was to young for marriage since I was just 22 but not any more. Dad and he shook hands saying now there's peace. I don't understand I don't care.

I noticed the way he looked at me longer and told me to start getting ready. Girl this is a dream. I was marrying a rich handsome hot breathtaking dashing man. What more can a girl ask for. This is a fairytale.

I scoffed at the last line. In the past that line might have been hope. Now it tasted like ash.

If Father had invited Damon, I needed to be ready. I ran a bath, steamy and quick, and dressed like a woman who expected power to look back at her. I called my stylist and told her I wanted simple hair, hard lines, lips that said don’t touch. Cecilia knocked once, peered in, and gave me that coquettish smile.

“Going on a date?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Just decided to look a little hotter. Come in.”

She smoothed her baggy shirt. “It’s just Father, he wants to see us down stairs.” she said.

We sat in the sitting room, Damon across from Father, a document laid between them: Treaty Agreement. Cecilia’s face lit like a prize. She slid close to Damon and sat on the same sofa, batting her lashes.

Damon’s gaze, however, wasn’t on her. It slipped to me again and lingered longer than politeness warranted. I dropped my eyes, forcing a casual greeting at Father.

“Sit, girls,” he said mildly.

Cecilia scooted closer to Damon like a girl who’d already won. He didn’t glance at her. He looked at me.

Good our positions were reversed. The other time I was the one starring. I couldn't take my eyes off him now he kept staring at me.

Father cleared his throat and introduced him. “This is Mr. Moretti, a new business partner. He would like to marry one of you.”

A beat. The room held its breath.

Father smiled at me with that practiced, patronizing tenderness. “I suggested my first daughter, Kaya.”

Of course. My face burned, he was willing to sacrifice me. I reminded myself to stay cool.

“Your first daughter will do,” Damon said, voice flat.

My heart slammed. For a second all the old, stupid hope flared — but I swallowed it down.

“No,” I said, steadier than I felt. “I will not marry you, Damon.