Lahat ng Kabanata ng Beneath His Ice: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

My breath hitched. I’d expected this message, but seeing his name on my screen still made my pulse race. The formality of the text was so perfectly him—no pleasantries, no question of whether I was ready. Just an assumption that I would do as he asked, that I would be ready when he decided I should be.And God help me, I was.I grabbed a clutch—a small black leather thing that had been part of my limited collection of nice accessories—and shoved my phone inside along with my keys, the wine lipstick for touch-ups, and a small compact mirror. My hands were steadier than I’d expected them to be, though I could feel the adrenaline humming just beneath my skin like electricity.The clutch was another detail that felt significant. It was small, elegant, practical without being dowdy. It complemented the dress perfectly, another piece of the puzzle that was my transformation. Inside, I’d also tucked a small perfume atomizer—the same jasmine and vanilla scent I’d used in my bath—and a few bre

Emery QuinnThe car ride was quiet.Not tense. Not awkward. Just—quiet.Killian sat beside me with the kind of composed stillness that made it hard to breathe. One hand rested on his knee, fingers tapping a slow, steady rhythm against the dark fabric of his suit. I could feel the weight of his presence even without looking directly at him—the way he filled the space, commanded it without saying a word.I focused on the lights outside, the blur of the city moving past the window like a stream of stardust. Neon signs reflected off the glass, painting fleeting colors across my hands folded in my lap. But no matter how many skyscrapers we passed, how many street corners blurred into one another, I couldn’t shake the awareness coiling in my chest.His gaze had returned to the side of my face more than once.And every time, it felt like heat crawling down my neck.The dress— that hugged my curves—suddenly felt too revealing. Too much. I’d second-guessed myself three times in the mirror befo

Emery QuinnDinner continued in a blur of muted chatter and fine cutlery, but my attention kept drifting to the empty seat on my left.The right side, of course, was occupied by Killian—his posture perfect, his expression unreadable as he conversed with some high-ranking executive about stock values, mergers, and market trajectories. I was trying my best to keep up, to understand the jargon laced with ambition and power, but my mind kept flicking back to that one unclaimed chair.It felt… deliberate.Reserved.But for who?I sipped my water and shifted slightly in my seat, hyperaware of the way the silk of my dress whispered against the leather chair. My body still tingled from the heat of Killian’s earlier gaze, from the pressure of his hand gently guiding me through the room. But now, he was focused on business. His voice calm and sure, his profile sharp under the soft chandelier light.The executive—Harrison something, I think Killian had introduced him—was gesturing with his fork

Emery QuinnI didn’t know what to do.The air around me still felt carved by Killian’s abrupt exit, as if his shadow lingered over the table even though his chair was empty. My fingers hovered near my wine glass, but I didn’t dare touch it — the stem felt too fragile, like it would shatter if I so much as breathed wrong. The burgundy liquid inside caught the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead, casting tiny reflections that danced across the white tablecloth like drops of blood.I was stuck between two men.And as if that wasn’t enough, they both looked like sworn enemies.Not just the casual dislike you get between business rivals. No, this was something older, sharper — a blade honed over years and left to rust in salt water. I’d seen enough in both their reactions to the other’s name to know there was history. The way Killian’s entire demeanor had shifted the moment Zayn appeared at our table, the careful control that had slipped from his features like a mask falling away.

Emery QuinnI was still hearing those three words in my head — *He’s my brother* — like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of my skull. They didn’t fade, didn’t soften with repetition. If anything, the sound got sharper each time, like glass grinding underfoot.*Brother.*It didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit with anything I’d seen, anything I’d felt in the tension between them. Brothers weren’t supposed to look at each other like that. Not unless something had gone very, very wrong.The word rolled around in my mind, gathering weight with each revolution. I thought about the way Killian’s entire demeanor shifted when Zayn’s name came up in conversation — how his jaw would set, his eyes would go flat and cold. I thought about the careful distance Zayn maintained, the way he spoke Killian’s name like it tasted bitter on his tongue. Brothers. The revelation should have explained everything, but instead it only deepened the mystery.One thing was certain — I wasn’t staying the cluele