Chapter 1

Author’s POV

**20 YEARS LATER...**

**Blue Stars Hotel – Private Room 203**

The heavy bass from the hotel bar vibrated through the walls as laughter and loud music filled the air. Inside Private Room 203, things had turned ugly.

A young woman named Hazel Lett was backed against the wall, her eyes wide with terror. Three drunk men surrounded her, their hands grabbing at her clothes. One of them laughed loudly as he ripped her thin top, tearing it to shreds. Another pulled a pair of scissors from his pocket and started cutting her jeans.

“Please… stop!” Hazel cried, her voice shaking. “I don’t want this! Let me go!”

One man grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. “Come on, sweetheart. You came to the bar looking like that. Don’t act innocent now.”

Hazel’s heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. She fought with all her strength, kicking and scratching. In the struggle, her head hit the sharp edge of the table. Blood trickled down the side of her face.

Just as one of the men pinned her arms, Hazel saw her chance. She shoved him hard and ran for the door. The door had been left slightly open. She pushed it wider and burst out into the hallway, her torn clothes barely covering her.

She ran blindly, tears streaming down her face. Her legs felt weak. Before she could go far, she crashed straight into a tall, hard chest.

Strong arms caught her before she could fall.

Hazel looked up, her vision blurry from tears and blood. The man standing there was tall and imposing, dressed in an expensive black suit. His face was sharp and handsome, but completely cold — like ice. His steel-gray eyes stared down at her without any warmth.

It was Cassian Hale.

Cassian’s personal assistant, Victor, and his business partner stood a few steps behind him, both frozen in shock.

Hazel’s top was ripped to shreds, exposing her skin. Her jeans had ugly cuts all over them, hanging loosely from her hips. Blood ran down the side of her head and dripped onto Cassian’s clean shirt.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice weak and trembling. “Save me… They’re going to hurt me. Please, sir… help me.”

Cassian looked down at her. His face remained completely still, showing no emotion. But inside, something stirred. He had seen many women throw themselves at him over the years — rich girls, models, even married women — all acting helpless to get close to him. But this girl… the pure fear and terror in her eyes were real. She wasn’t acting.

His business partner, Mr. Lang, cleared his throat. “Mr. Hale, she’s badly hurt.”

Victor, the assistant, nodded quickly. “Should I call security, sir?”

Cassian didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the blood on her face and the way her body shook in his arms.

Hazel saw that he wasn’t moving. Panic rose in her chest again. “If you won’t help… I’ll run,” she said softly.

She turned and tried to take two steps away from him.

But the world spun. Her head injury and the fear had drained all her strength. Her knees buckled, and she started to fall.

Cassian moved fast. He caught her before her head could hit the hard floor. One arm went under her knees, the other supported her back. He lifted her gently into his arms like she weighed nothing.

Just then, the three thugs rushed out of Room 203, still laughing and shouting.

“Hey! Bring that bitch back here!”

They stopped dead when they saw who was holding her.

Cassian Hale — the Ice King.

The richest and most powerful man in the country. Stories about him spread like fire: how he destroyed competitors without mercy, how he ruined lives with a single phone call, how he showed no emotion and forgave nothing. The men’s faces turned pale.

One of them whispered, “That’s… Cassian Hale.”

They didn’t wait another second. All three turned and ran down the hallway as fast as their legs could carry them, disappearing around the corner.

Victor stepped forward. “Sir, should I call the police?”

Cassian shook his head once. His voice was low and cold. “No need. Call Dr. Reinhardt. Tell him I’m heading to the hospital now. Private wing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cassian carried Hazel down the hallway toward the private elevator. Even as he walked, his face stayed blank, like stone. But in his mind, an old memory flashed.

Twenty years ago… a scared sixteen-year-old girl had begged for help too. Marie Gretel. He had ignored her tears that night at the beach house. He had laughed with his friends while she suffered.

Was this how Marie had felt?

The thought came unwanted, sharp like a knife. Cassian shut it down immediately. He pushed the memory away and focused on the girl in his arms. Her head rested against his chest, blood still slowly soaking into his shirt.

The driver had the black luxury car waiting at the private exit. Cassian slid into the back seat carefully, keeping Hazel on his lap so her head wouldn’t jolt. The driver sped off toward the best hospital in the city without needing instructions.

Inside the car, the silence was heavy. Victor sat in the front passenger seat, making calls to arrange everything.

Cassian looked down at Hazel’s face. She was young — maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. Beautiful in a soft, delicate way, with long chestnut hair and pale skin now smeared with blood. Her breathing was shallow but steady.

His business partner had stayed behind at the hotel to handle any mess, but Cassian could still hear Mr. Lang’s earlier words in his head: “She looks really pitiful, sir.”

Cassian hated bullying. He had hated it ever since his little sister died in school because of cruel teasing about her braces. That pain had turned him cold toward anyone who hurt the weak. Yet here he was, holding a broken girl who reminded him too much of his own past sins.

He didn’t speak. His face showed nothing.

But deep inside, a small crack had formed in the ice around his heart.

The car arrived at the hospital’s private entrance. Doctors and nurses were already waiting. Cassian carried Hazel inside himself, ignoring the shocked looks from the staff. He placed her gently on the stretcher and stepped back as they wheeled her away for treatment.

Dr. Reinhardt, an older man who had treated Cassian’s family for years, approached him.

“Mr. Hale, we’ll take good care of her. Head wound, possible concussion, bruises… she’s been through a lot. We’ll run full checks.”

Cassian nodded once. “Do everything necessary. Send the bill to me.”

He turned and walked to the waiting area, sitting down in a quiet corner. His expensive suit was stained with her blood, but he didn’t care.

Victor handed him a clean towel. “Sir, do you want me to find out who she is?”

Cassian stared at the closed door of the treatment room.

" Yes,” he said quietly. “ And do it immediately.”