Ice Melting

Sienna

"I hate this," I muttered as I walked into that massive, stupid building. And by "massive," I didn't just mean impressive—I meant palace-level overkill. I'd always mocked Dad for showing off in his office, but this? This was ridiculous. Computers and paperwork didn't require chandeliers and marble floors. What the hell is this place?

Grayson Industries—or rather, Alexander Grayson, the man under whose command every employee moved, spoke, and breathed like a puppet—had clearly spared no expense. Media called him a billionaire. Media lied. He wasn't just rich; he owned opulence, wielding it like a weapon. One snap of his fingers, and he could buy loyalty—or fear.

After giving my name as an "employee" from Adriano Corporation, I was led to his office. Jackpot: his secretary was at her desk. Perfect. I could drop off the file and vanish before even glimpsing the devil in his domain.

I approached her, plastering a cheerful smile on my face. "Hi! This file is for Mr. Grayson from Adriano Corporation. I'd really appreciate it if you could deliver it—it's important."

"Hey," she smiled, reaching for the file, "sure, I can—"

And then. That voice. That goddamn voice boomed from behind me.

"What a pleasant surprise!"

I closed my eyes, my hopes evaporating instantly. The secretary froze, her hand hovering over the file, and for a second I wondered what the hell she thought she was doing—but she wisely let go.

"Well, excuse me, Miss," she said, flashing me a polite smile, "I guess you can give the file to Sir himself now that he's here." And just like that, she vanished.

I gritted my teeth, staring at the file in my hand, mentally cursing my fate.

I turned slowly, knowing I had no choice. And there he was. Black suit, white shirt, polished black shoes reflecting my face, a Patek Philippe watch glinting on his wrist, hair flawless, perfume cutting through the air even from a distance—and that face... the same face I'd recently remembered between my thighs. My knees wobbled, but I wasn't about to let him see weakness. I squared my shoulders and forced a tight, controlled smile.

I hated him.

"Great that you're here, Mr. Grayson," I said, stepping forward, holding out the file. "Dad sent this—"

He didn't let me finish. In one swift movement, he grabbed my arm and shoved me inside the office.

"Hey!" The file hit the floor, forgotten. His eyes didn't move from mine.

Before I could react, he had me pressed against the closed door. One hand slammed against the door beside my head, the other gripping my hip, forcing my body flush against his.

God. Give me strength.

"Why the fuck are you avoiding me?" His voice was low, dangerous, vibrating through me. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and something darker—possession, maybe. And it scared me.

"I don't think I owe you any explanation," I said, throat tight, trying to push him away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to—"

He pressed me against the door again, his body impossibly close, face inches from mine, eyes boring into my soul.

"Yes, you fucking do," he growled, the vibration of his voice reverberating through me, his rough breath ghosting across my skin.

"No, I absolutely fucking don't," I spat back. His hand shot up to cradle my jaw. Surprising—he looked furious, yet his touch wasn't harsh or painful. I had expected otherwise.

"Look, Sienna," he said, trying—and failing—to stay calm, jaw tight, eyes stormy. "If you go back to that piece of shit—"

"What would you do, huh?" I snapped, shoving his chest. "You can parade around under the guise of some business trip, fuck every woman you want, satisfy your stupid animalistic urges, and if I go back to my ex, that's a problem?!" I pushed harder. "You don't own me! I do what I want, and if I want Ryatt—I will, damn it!"

I expected rage, threats, or some domineering bullshit. Instead, sheer confusion flickered across his face.

"Wait...what?" He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Ego bruised, of course. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you asshole!" I bent down, grabbed the file, and hurled it at his face. He caught it effortlessly and set it on the desk—crazy reflexes he had.

"No, I clearly don't—what stories are you listening to? And from whom?" He stepped closer. "I haven't fucked anyone since I got you."

"Great," I scoffed, arms crossed. "Now you're lying right in front of me just to maintain this shiny new image. At least have the decency to admit it, you goddamn jerk!

He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply.  "Sienna—I didn't put my dick in anywhere else from the past month, except for you."

Heat rose to my cheeks because of his choice of words. Jaw clenching. "Do you have no shame at all?"

"Nope. I don't—and I am happy to be shameless," He stepped closer, gripping my hips, tugging me flush against him. "Now, tell me—where are you hearing this bullshit from?"

"I'm hearing bullshit?" I laughed bitterly. "Wait—let me show you." I grabbed my phone and shoved the article in his face. "Here! Remember this, in case you've forgotten who else you've screwed over the past month! Or past week, if I need to state specifically given your poor memory!"

He took the phone, glanced at the article and the photos, and a few seconds later...laughed.

He fucking laughed. The audacity!

"You're laughing? Are you serious?" I stared at him, incredulous. "You're sick!"

I tried to step away—but he caught me effortlessly and placed me on his desk as if I weighed nothing.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I struggled, but he shoved himself between my legs, hands braced on either side of me, leaning closer. I leaned back, forcing space, trying to maintain control.

"This is why you're ignoring me? Cute," he smirked, shaking the phone teasingly. I snatched it back.

"Let me go, Alex—I need to leave."

"So naive," he said, amused. "You think you can walk into my office and leave without my permission?" He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I slapped it away.

"Get away from me, asshole!"

Another laugh—grating, infuriating. Before I could hurl another curse, he spoke.

"That's my friend, Adeline," he said. "She lives in California. When she heard I was there, she insisted we meet—it'd been a long time."

"I find it hard to believe you have a friend you don't fuck," I shot back, trying to shove him away.

"First of all, I don't have friends," he chuckled. "Second, she's married—to Pedro, my cousin. Childhood sweethearts, married young, and—" He pulled out his phone. "They have two beautiful daughters—Taylor and Joana." He showed me a selfie, taken by the curly-haired little girl, showing him and the family laughing. "And the picture that actually inserted ideas in your head—Adeline and I were talking and the music was too loud so I had to get close for to hear and I may have joked about kidnapping both girls cause they lit up my day. I actually considered it although Adeline still doesn't know."

"You're lying," I muttered, still skeptical. I was rather trying to convince myself.

"You know I'm not, Flower," he said, smiling as if he could read through my facade. "Want to see some videos?" He swiped his gallery. A video appeared of him getting treated like royalty by the girls—they were massaging his head, "The curly haired one is Joana and the straight haired one is Taylor—both of them loves me, by the way,"  I bit back a smile as Joana blew a raspberry on his cheek and he tackled her, ticking her sides; Taylor came to her rescue and he tickled her as well.

He was surprisingly good with kids. Something I hadn't expect.

"Well, someone's not mad anymore," he commented, amused.

"It doesn't matter," I said, the stubborn bitch within me not giving up so easily. "What happened that night...was a mistake. Let's just move on, alright? We shouldn't continue this any further."

And finally...His jaw clenched, slow and deliberate. He set the phone down. "You really love putting yourself in trouble, don't you?" His eyes were dark, posture rigid. And I could already sense the danger.

Shit. He was mad. Mad-mad.

Did I just put myself in trouble because of my stubbornness? I guess yes.