Chapter 2: Meeting the Ice King

Celeste

The Hart Enterprises tower pierced the gray morning sky like a steel needle, its glass surface reflecting the clouds that hung heavy with yesterday's rain. I stood on the sidewalk below, craning my neck to see the top floors, feeling as small as an ant preparing to climb Mount Everest. Somewhere in that gleaming monument to success, Killian Hart waited.

My hands trembled as I adjusted the simple navy scarf Mom had insisted I wear. "It brings out your eyes, sweetheart," she'd whispered that morning, her frail fingers smoothing the fabric with the same care she'd once used to braid my hair for school pictures. The scarf was one of the few nice things we still owned, a remnant from better days.

The lobby overwhelmed my senses immediately. Marble floors so polished I could see my reflection stretched toward impossibly high ceilings, while modern art that probably cost more than our house decorated the walls. I felt like a sparrow that had wandered into a gathering of hawks.

"Ms. Andrews?" A woman appeared at my side, her auburn hair pulled into a perfect chignon and her smile professionally warm. "I'm Nora Chen, Mr. Hart's executive assistant. He's ready for you."

The elevator ride to the fifty-seventh floor felt endless. My heart hammered against my ribs as floor numbers climbed higher, carrying me toward a future I couldn't quite comprehend. What did one wear to meet the man who might buy your life? I'd chosen my best dress—a simple black piece that had served for church and the few social occasions we could still afford—but now it felt woefully inadequate.

"Mr. Hart values punctuality and directness," Nora said quietly as we reached the top floor. "He doesn't enjoy small talk or emotional displays. Keep that in mind."

The elevator doors opened onto a reception area that looked more like a museum than an office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, while minimalist furniture in blacks and grays created an atmosphere of cool sophistication. But it was the silence that struck me most—a profound quiet that seemed to muffle even the sound of my breathing.

If the lobby had overwhelmed me, Killian Hart's office left me breathless. The space could have housed our entire downstairs, with windows that wrapped around two walls offering a panoramic view of the city. But none of that mattered the moment my eyes found the man standing with his back to us, looking out at his kingdom below.

Killian Hart was taller than I'd expected, his broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Dark hair, the color of rich coffee, was styled with precision but had just enough natural wave to keep it from looking severe. When he finally turned to face me, I understood why business magazines featured him on their covers.

He was beautiful in the way that sharp things were beautiful—dangerous and compelling. His features looked carved from marble: strong jawline, straight nose, and cheekbones that could have been sculpted by an artist. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. Steel gray, like the sky before a storm, they studied me with an intensity that made me feel exposed.

"Ms. Andrews." His voice was exactly what I'd expected—deep, controlled, with the kind of authority that suggested he'd never been told no. "Please, sit."

He gestured to a leather chair positioned across from his desk, and I noticed he didn't offer his hand or any other greeting. No smile, no acknowledgment of the gravity of what we were discussing. Just cold politeness that made the temperature in the room feel several degrees lower.

I sat carefully, smoothing my dress and crossing my ankles the way Mom had taught me. Killian moved to his chair with the fluid grace of a predator, every motion calculated and precise. When he settled behind his desk, the morning light from the windows created a halo effect around his dark hair, making him look like a fallen angel—beautiful but utterly untouchable.

"I assume your father explained the basic terms of my proposal," he began, opening a leather portfolio and extracting several documents. "One year of marriage, purely for business purposes. You would live in my penthouse, accompany me to necessary social functions, and present the image of a stable, committed relationship."

His tone was completely clinical, as if he were discussing a merger rather than a marriage. I found my voice, though it came out smaller than I'd intended. "And in return, you'll clear my family's debts?"

"All of them." He leaned back in his chair, those gray eyes never leaving my face. "Plus a settlement of five hundred thousand dollars upon completion of the contract."

The number hit me like a physical blow. Five hundred thousand dollars—more money than I'd ever dreamed of having. Enough to not just save our family but to completely transform our lives.

"Why me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "You could have anyone. Models, actresses, socialites. Why choose someone like me?"

For the first time since I'd entered the room, something flickered across his perfect features. Not emotion exactly, but a crack in that impenetrable facade. "You have the right background. Clean reputation, no scandals or complications. You're educated but not threatening, attractive but not distractingly so. You fit the image I need to project."

Each word felt like a small cut. He'd reduced me to a list of qualifications, stripped away everything that made me human and left only the marketable parts. I was attractive but not threatening, suitable but not special.

"The contract is quite detailed," he continued, pushing the documents across the polished wood toward me. "Separate bedrooms, no physical intimacy required, and complete discretion about the true nature of our arrangement. Think of it as an extended performance, Ms. Andrews. You play the role of my devoted wife, and I ensure your family's financial security."

I stared at the papers, their neat columns of legal text that would determine my future. "What about after? After the year is over?"

"Clean divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. You'll be free to do whatever you wish with your life, and your family will be secure." He paused, and I thought I detected the slightest softening in his voice. "Your father mentioned you'd been studying art before your family's... difficulties. You could return to that."

The fact that he knew about my abandoned dreams caught me off guard. Had his researchers dug that deep into my life? Did he know about the scholarship I'd given up, the paintings gathering dust in my childhood bedroom?

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts, and Nora appeared with a silver tray bearing coffee service. As she poured coffee into delicate china cups, I noticed Killian watching me with those penetrating gray eyes. There was something almost predatory in his gaze, but also something else. Curiosity, maybe?

"You're scared," he observed, his tone neutral but not unkind.

"Terrified," I admitted, seeing no point in pretending otherwise. "This is the most important decision I'll ever make, and I'm supposed to base it on a conversation with a complete stranger."

Something shifted in his expression—so briefly I might have imagined it. For just a moment, the ice in his eyes seemed to thaw, revealing a glimpse of something warmer underneath. Something almost... lonely?

"You're right to be cautious," he said quietly. "But I give you my word that you'll be safe. Respected. This arrangement benefits us both, Ms. Andrews. Nothing more, nothing less."

I reached for the coffee cup, but my hands were trembling so badly that I nearly dropped it. Without thinking, Killian was around the desk in an instant, his large hands steadying mine as he helped guide the cup safely back to its saucer.

The touch of his skin against mine was electric. His hands were warm, surprisingly calloused—evidence that he hadn't always lived in ivory towers. For a heartbeat, we were frozen there, his fingers covering mine, his face close enough that I could see gold flecks in those storm-gray eyes.

My scarf had slipped during the moment, sliding down my shoulder. His free hand reached up, almost automatically, to adjust it back into place. His fingers brushed against my neck as he smoothed the fabric, and I felt a shiver run down my spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Then he seemed to realize what he was doing. He pulled back as if he'd been burned, returning to his chair with sharp, efficient movements. The brief crack in his armor sealed itself, leaving only the ice king once more.

"The contract needs to be signed by tomorrow morning," he said, his voice once again completely professional. "Or your family loses everything by the end of the week."

The weight of his ultimatum settled over me like a lead blanket. Twenty-four hours to decide whether to sacrifice myself to save the people I loved most.

"I understand," I managed, standing on unsteady legs. "I'll give you my answer tomorrow."

He nodded curtly, already reaching for his laptop as if I'd already been dismissed from his thoughts. But as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

"Ms. Andrews." I turned back to find him looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "For what it's worth, I don't take this decision lightly. Neither should you."

The elevator ride down felt like falling through space, the city rushing up to meet me as I descended from Killian Hart's domain. In my purse, the contract felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, its pages heavy with the power to reshape everything I'd ever known.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I looked back up at that gleaming tower, wondering what kind of man needed to buy a wife? And more importantly, what kind of woman was I about to become?