FROZEN ROMANCE

The white roses were everywhere. They had been flown in from the Netherlands at a cost that could have bought a mid-sized apartment. Their scent was thick and cloying, trapped under the high vaulted ceilings of the cathedral. I stood at the altar in a silk Haute Couture gown that felt heavier with every passing second. I didn’t look at the flowers. I looked at the man standing across from me, and I felt nothing but a dull sense of anticipation.

"I’m sorry, Scarlett."

Arthur Sterling’s voice cracked as it hit the microphone. The sound echoed through the church, cutting through the murmurs of five hundred socialites. He wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the front row, specifically on my half-sister, Penelope. She sat there with her hands pressed to her chest, her eyes brimming with well-rehearsed tears.

"I can't go through with this," Arthur continued, his voice gaining a desperate kind of strength. "I can't marry you when my heart belongs to someone else. It’s Penelope. It has always been Penelope."

The silence that followed lasted exactly two seconds before the room erupted. It wasn’t a roar of anger; it was a wave of hushed, delighted gossiping. I could see the smirks behind expensive lace fans. I saw my stepmother, Victoria, leaning toward Penelope, her face a mask of fake concern while her eyes gleamed with triumph.

Penelope leaned toward the nearest microphone, her voice trembling just enough to be heard by everyone. "Oh, Scarlett... I’m so sorry. I tried to tell him to stay with you. I tried to be the bigger person, but love... you can’t fight love."

They wanted a show. They wanted me to scream, to tear at my veil, or to beg Arthur to change his mind. They wanted the "Ice Queen" of the Pierce family to finally break in public.

I walked over to the priest, who was frozen in shock, and calmly took the microphone from his hand. The feedback gave a sharp hum that silenced the room.

"Fine," I said. My voice was flat, professional, and loud. "The wedding is off."

Arthur blinked. He looked confused, perhaps even a little disappointed that I wasn't devastated. "Scarlett, I—"

"Be quiet, Arthur," I interrupted. I stepped closer to him, my heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. "Since you are the one breaching the contract, we need to discuss the logistics. My mother’s estate moved ten million dollars into your company’s expansion fund last quarter. Per our prenuptial agreement, a cancellation of this nature triggers an immediate repayment clause. You have twenty-four hours to return the ten million, plus a thirty percent penalty for breach of contract."

Arthur’s face went from pale to a sickly shade of grey. "Ten... ten million? Plus thirty percent? Scarlett, the company hasn't liquidated those assets yet. I don't have that kind of cash sitting in a vault."

"That sounds like a personal problem," I replied. I turned my gaze to Penelope. "You wanted him, Penelope? He's all yours. Just keep in mind that he comes with a thirteen-million-dollar debt and a reputation for being a coward. You two deserve each other."

I didn't wait for a response. I turned my back on the altar and began the long walk down the red carpet. Every eye in the building followed me. I didn't look at my father, who was staring at his shoes, or Victoria, whose smug look had vanished the moment I mentioned the money.

As I reached the back of the church, I saw a man I didn't recognize sitting in the very last row. He was leaning back, his long legs crossed, looking more like he was watching a bored documentary than a high-society scandal. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than Arthur’s entire car collection.

I stopped. I knew who he was by reputation alone. One of the ushers had whispered his name earlier with a mix of fear and awe.

"Is that Alexander King?" I asked a nearby guest, a woman I vaguely remembered from a charity gala.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes wide. "He never goes to weddings. Why is he here?"

I remembered the news from the business journals this morning. The King Group was facing a massive internal power struggle. Alexander needed a wife to solidify his grandmother’s inheritance requirements by the end of the week.

I walked straight up to him.

His eyes were a cold, piercing grey. He didn't stand up. He just watched me approach with a look of mild amusement.

"Mr. King," I said, loud enough for the people nearby to hear. "I understand you’re in the market for a wife."

A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips. "And you're making an application, Ms. Pierce?"

"I'm the best option you've got," I said, leaning in slightly. "I’m efficient, I have my own capital, and I don't care about 'love.' Most importantly, I’m already wearing the dress. We can be at the courthouse in twenty minutes."

The guests around us stopped breathing. Arthur and Penelope were forgotten. Alexander King stood up slowly, towering over me. He buttoned his jacket, his movements slow and deliberate. He held out his hand, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that would have made a lesser person flinch.

"The offer is accepted, Mrs. King," he said, his voice a low growl that carried through the silent church. "Let's go sign the papers."