The Ice Between Us

The silence in the King mansion was louder than any words Alexander and I could ever exchange. It had been three weeks since the wedding, three weeks since I walked down that aisle with trembling hands and a heart split in two.

And in all that time, Alexander and I hadn’t truly spoken.

We coexisted. That was the best word for it. He’d leave early in the morning, dressed in his immaculate suits, the scent of cedar and ambition clinging to him as he disappeared into his empire. By the time he returned, it was late, long enough for me to wonder if he was avoiding me, or if I was simply avoiding him.

But tonight, fate had decided to corner us.

The Kings were hosting a charity gala in their estate. Their ballroom glittered under golden chandeliers, filled with silk gowns, champagne laughter, and the hush of calculated conversations. The perfect playground for billionaires. And I was expected to stand by Alexander’s side as the new Mrs. King, smiling like my world hadn’t crumbled only weeks before.

I held the glass of champagne too tightly, my reflection trembling in its bubbles.

“You’ll break the stem if you keep glaring at it like that.”

His voice—low, smooth, and edged with steel—slid through me. I turned, and there he was. Alexander King, my husband. Every line of his tailored tuxedo screamed perfection, but it was his eyes that made my breath catch: cool, assessing, sharp as glass.

“You’re late,” I said before I could stop myself.

“And you look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” he replied, that ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I would,” I admitted.

For a second, something flickered across his face—something almost human—but it was gone too fast, replaced by the mask he wore so well.

“You made vows, Elena. Pretending you regret them in front of my board members isn’t an option.”

I bristled. “You think I care about your board?”

“You should,” he said, leaning closer, his breath brushing against my ear. “Because your name is tied to mine now. Every glare, every frown, it reflects on both of us.”

My heart pounded, half in anger, half in something I refused to name.

“Why do you even care?” I shot back, keeping my smile frozen for the watching crowd. “You didn’t marry me for love. You married me because it was convenient.”

His jaw tightened. “Careful, Elena.”

I tilted my head, the crystal earrings I wore catching the light. “Why? Does the truth sting?”

The air between us was a live wire, sparking with unspoken words and unwanted heat. People floated around us, laughing and sipping champagne, but it felt like we were in our own war zone. Every glance, every word, a strike.

“Dance with me,” Alexander said suddenly.

I blinked. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, already setting his glass down and holding out his hand.

I should’ve refused. I should’ve reminded him that I wasn’t some pawn he could parade. But when his eyes locked onto mine—dark, commanding, impossible—I found my fingers slipping into his.

The orchestra swelled, violins weaving a melody that pressed against my ribs. He led me onto the dance floor, his hand firm at my waist, his other clasping mine.

“You hate me,” I whispered.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine. “But I don’t like you either.”

The words stung more than I expected. “That makes two of us.”

We moved in perfect synchrony, our bodies attuned despite the storm raging in our chests. Every step was a battle: my need to keep distance against his command to pull me close.

“Tell me,” he murmured, so quietly only I could hear, “do you still think about him?”

My heart stuttered. Damien. His name hadn’t been spoken aloud since the wedding, but hearing it now was like reopening a wound that hadn’t healed.

I tried to look away, but Alexander’s grip on my chin forced me back to his eyes. “Do you?” he pressed.

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “And you hate that, don’t you?”

His jaw clenched, his steps faltering for a heartbeat before regaining their rhythm. “I hate that he left you weak enough for me to pick up the pieces.”

My breath hitched. “I’m not weak.”

“Then prove it,” he said. His words weren’t loud, but they sliced through me sharper than any blade.

The music slowed, the dance ending, but neither of us moved. We stood there, inches apart, staring each other down like enemies and something dangerously closer.

When the applause broke out around us, I pulled away first. My chest ached, my throat tight. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate everything about this arrangement. But deep down, under the rage, under the pain… something else was stirring.

Something I couldn’t name.