Fire and ice

The room was cold.

Too cold.

Elara Grey stood on the wooden platform with her wrists tied in front of her, the harsh auction lights burning her skin. She kept her head lowered, her breath controlled, her expression calm—almost unnaturally calm. It was the only thing she had left. The calmness she held onto like a shield, like ice quietly covering a broken heart.

Around her, wealthy men whispered, their voices thick with greed and amusement.

“She looks fragile.”

“No family. No history.”

“A perfect purchase.”

“She doesn’t even cry.”

If they only knew the truth: crying never saved Elara. Fear never protected her. Silence had always been her only power.

A loud metallic click echoed through the hall.

A heavy door opened.

And the entire room fell silent—so silent that Elara felt the stillness sink into her bones.

A man walked in.

Tall. Sharp-featured. Dressed in a black suit that fit him like a second skin. His footsteps were slow but powerful, and the air around him crackled with heat and authority. His presence alone felt like standing close to a burning flame—dangerous and consuming.

Alexander Steele.

The billionaire everyone feared.

The man whose temper was said to be fire.

Whose anger could burn down anyone who crossed him.

Whose name traveled like a warning in dark hallways.

Elara didn’t know him, but she felt the atmosphere shift as he entered—like fire had entered a room full of dry wood.

The auctioneer quickly straightened himself and stuttered into the microphone.

“L–Lot 47. Elara Grey. Calm temperament, obedient, no resistance.”

Alexander’s head lifted slightly.

His eyes landed on her.

Fire met ice.

His gaze was hot, intense, searching her face as if trying to understand why someone tied on a stage could look so calm, so controlled. Elara didn’t look away. Not because she was brave, but because looking away had never protected her either.

The bidding began.

“Fifty thousand!”

“Seventy!”

“One hundred!”

“One-fifty!”

Elara barely listened.

Her heartbeat stayed steady, her breathing even. Her mind had learned long ago how to retreat inward and freeze everything else out. Let the world burn—she would remain ice.

But then Alexander raised one hand.

His voice was deep, rough, and burned through the entire hall like a spark igniting dry grass.

“Five million.”

Gasps exploded across the room.

Chairs scraped.

Mouths fell open.

The auctioneer didn’t even bother waiting for another offer.

“Sold!”

The gavel slammed, sealing her fate.

Elara flinched slightly—not from fear, but from the realization that someone had paid more for her than she thought she was worth.

Alexander walked forward with slow, fiery steps. Every movement radiated dominance and danger. People stepped out of his path like they were afraid of being scorched.

He stopped directly in front of her.

Elara kept her eyes lowered, her palms cold.

A gloved hand reached out and lifted her chin gently but firmly.

She met his gaze again.

This time, she saw something beneath the fire in his eyes—pain. Deep, controlled, burning pain. Pain he hid behind wealth and anger and power.

His voice was low and hot when he spoke—not to her, but to the handler next to her.

“Untie her.”

The handler hesitated.

“S–Sir, she might—”

Alexander didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

One fiery glare shut the man up instantly.

“She’s not going to run,” he said.

Elara’s breath caught.

How did he know?

Why was he so certain?

The ropes fell from her wrists.

She rubbed the marks gently, but Alexander’s eyes were still on her—sharp, studying, almost confused by her stillness.

“You belong to me now,” he said, his tone fierce but oddly protective. “But you will not be harmed.”

He turned and walked away.

Elara followed.

Her steps were small, quiet, controlled—ice trailing behind a man made of fire. She could feel the heat of him even without touching him, a heat she didn’t understand yet.

Behind her, the room erupted into shocked whispers.

In front of her, Alexander Steele moved like a burning storm disguised as a man.

Elara didn’t know him.

She didn’t know his trauma.

She didn’t know the enemies waiting outside.

She only knew one truth:

His fire had chosen her.

And her ice had not melted.

Yet.