Redeeming Alessandre: Claiming the Billionaire ice Queen

OPHELIA

It hadn’t been easy getting to the stage I was at now.

It took years of relentless hard work and more tears than I cared to think of but I did it. I built the world’s leading company in biomedical innovation. And I wore that fact like a badge of honour.

My heels clicked sharply against the sprawling marble floors of my company’s head office, and my security detail followed a few steps behind me. Everyone parted ways as I walked past and no one dared cross me.

I wasn’t called the Ice Queen for no reason.

I stepped into my office, left the guards stationed at the door, and slipped off my shades. Charlotte entered a moment later, her stride determined as usual.

“You need to throw a ball,” she said immediately upon reaching my desk.

Well, that was unexpected.

“A ball?” I asked, brows furrowed.

She nodded, her expression all too casual. “Yup. A ball.” She sank into the ergonomic chair across from me and began spinning in it slightly, as if we were talking about picking dinner reservations.

“The public thinks you’re a little…” she trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging.

“Finish what you were about to say, Charlotte,” I snapped. “You know I hate being kept waiting.” Charlotte had been my best friend for as long as I could remember and now acted as my publicist, which gave her a degree of leverage most people didn’t have.

But I wasn’t in the mood for games today.

She let out a dramatic sigh and finally stopped spinning. “You’re too cold, Lia,” she said. “And as much as you don’t care, we need this company afloat, not six feet under.”

I turned away from her, facing the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I heard her move closer, then stop just behind me.

“I know Al—”

“Don’t,” I warned, cutting her off. “Do not mention his name.” My mood soured instantly. She just had to go there.

“I’m sorry, Ophelia, but you can’t keep letting him control you,” she argued, her voice rising. I didn’t turn to face her and let my hands grip the arms of my seat tightly.

“No one controls me, Charlotte,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Least of all him. I control everything. Understood?”

I finally turned to look at her. After a tense pause, she nodded and continued.

“It’d be a charity ball. An exclusive one mainly for the rich and well-connected.” She returned to her seat. “Funds will be raised and connections made. Your public image will skyrocket and your icy reputation might thaw… somewhat,” she added, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “We’re basically killing two birds with one stone.”

I studied her. The idea made sense, logically. But the thought of cozying up to the elites, with their sycophantic smiles and curated sympathy, made my blood boil.

Still, in this world I’d clawed my way into, appearances were everything. And as a woman in STEM, I understood that better than most.

“Fine,” I said reluctantly. “Are the plans already underway?” I hated tardiness and Charlotte knew that.

“Yes,” she replied, far too cheerfully. “In fact, it’s happening tonight.”

The fuck?

“What?!”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you I’ve already started preparing,” she stated nonchalantly, like she was discussing the weather. “The stylists will be in your penthouse by 5 p.m., so don’t be alarmed if you see unfamiliar faces.”

“Charlotte!”

“Byeeee!” she sang, grabbing her bag and practically running out the door.

The door slammed shut behind her.

I stared at the space she’d just occupied, my jaw clenched so tight I could hear the faint grind of my own teeth.

So, this was how it would be.

A fucking charity ball.

I turned back to the window, my gaze settling once more on the sprawling skyline.

Charity. Warmth. Smiles. All the things they thought I lacked. They didn’t know I’d given all of that once.

To him.

And he’d shattered it.

I let out a slow, measured breath. If the world wanted a queen to parade, then I’d give them one.

As long as he wouldn’t be there, I wouldn’t have a problem.

______

My penthouse buzzed with movement as the stylists hurried about, trying to get me in the perfect outfit.

While they were fixing my hair and dress, my mind—traitorous as ever—drifted back to the day Charlotte had helped me get ready for my first date with him.

It had been one of the best days of my life. I was glowing with happiness then. He’d paid for everything, had a dress delivered, pulled out all the stops. And for a time, I believed it meant something. Believed he meant something.

But he ruined that, just like he ruined me.

I shook the thoughts out of my head and tried to focus on the chaos surrounding me.

An hour later, I was ready.

The stylists filed out when they were done, and I finally stood in front of the full-length mirror.

I looked… breathtaking. The gold silk gown hugged every curve of mine, its rich color complimenting my olive-toned skin. My makeup—a subtle one consisting of brown eyeshadow laced with golden flecks—highlighted the amber in my eyes. My jewelry was custom-made, delicate yet commanding.

Tonight, I would show the world who I was.

Or rather, who I wasn’t.

I stepped outside to find Charlotte waiting with two bodyguards. Moments later, we were on our way to the venue.

Unfortunately, the paparazzi were already there, their camera flashes sparking like lighting against the tinted windows.

Charlotte turned to me. “We’re using the side entrance and taking you upstairs,” she said. “You’ll walk down the grand staircase to welcome the guests. Then, the event starts from there.”

I gave her a curt nod.

Getting through the media was a chore that included forced smiles and perfunctory waves. But I handled it well like always.

Inside the hall, Charlotte and the guards led me to a discreet elevator in the corner. We ascended in silence until it stopped at the second floor.

“You ready?” she asked, adjusting the train of my gown as she prepared to leave.

I let out a deep breath. “I will be. Go ahead.”

She nodded, squeezed my hand, then entered the elevators with the guards.

Once the doors shut, I turned back to face the heavy curtains veiling the staircase entryway. Pulling a deep breath, I steadied myself, took one step… then another… and finally drew the curtain back.

The room stretched out before me like a scene from a dream—lavish and glowing, filled with powerful men and glittering women. Every head turned as I emerged.

I offered a slight wave, my smile composed and practiced. Forced.

Charlotte said “nice,” right? I could do nice.

I descended the stairs, the eyes of the entire hall on me. My head was held high and my steps were measured and calculated.

And then, his eyes met mine.

I didn’t even feel myself falling, just the blur of motion, the sudden drop of my stomach. But I didn’t hit the ground.

Instead, I crashed into the arms of the man I’d spent the last six years running from.

Alessandre Marcello.