Cold Person Novels & Stories

Ding. As the elevator doors slid open, a wave of stale, frigid air, tinged with the faint, metallic scent of machine oil, rushed out to meet her. The cold hit her exposed skin like a slap, raising goosebumps along her arms and the back of her neck. The temperature here was far lower than aboveground—easily ten degrees colder. The silence was so absolute that she could hear the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears, each pulse a steady, rhythmic reminder that she was still alive.

No one said a word, no one made a reaction, but everyone's eyes fell on one person. As if frozen in time, Vince paused the movements of his knife against his plate, he said nothing, not a single change could be seen on his expression, but the air around him had turned colder that an iced lake. As gently as anyone would, he placed down his cutleries, the sound of his chair scraping the floor was heard as he stood. “I'm afraid i might have overstayed my welcome” The words came out dangerously low. He turned to his side, reaching his hand out to the women next to him.

That was all I had left to hold onto. “Thirty seconds to be free”. I gripped the pole beside me for balance. “Play the song,” his voice commanded. Light, flirtatious music filled the room. “It’s time to shake that body,” he added coldly. I nodded again, too broken to argue. My heart shattered as I began to move slowly to the rhythm. Every motion sent pain ripping through my open wounds, but it was nothing compared to the agony clawing at my chest. I had never felt dirtier.

“I’ve got this,” Charlotte whispered to her reflection, tilting her chin slightly. “I’ve done this before. I can do it again.” Her fingers traced the edge of her blouse as she repeated the words, letting them settle into her chest like armor. She had gone through four interviews this past week, each leaving her hopeful but unanswered. No call backs yet. But hope, stubborn as ever, refused to die.

The maid said, and I shook my head sadly. I glanced at her name tag and saw her name. Christiana. "Thank you so much, ma'am. I'm so grateful; you saved my life with what you did," Christiana said. "Saved your life? How?" I asked. "Because leaving this place is as good as being dead, my daughters are probably going to starve to death," Christiana said. "You have a daughter?" I asked and Christiana nodded. She looked so young to have a child. She looks so pretty with her striking blue eyes and glossy brown hair, her nose and mouth were in perfect shape, but her fair skin looked so dry, as if she had not applied body lotion for weeks.

She seemed flustered, but she remained proud as she declared, "Noelle, how dare you hit me! I will never let you get away with this!" Smiling, I knelt beside her. "Very well. Don't accuse me of picking on you—call whoever you want, I'll be waiting right here. I'm eager to see how you'll get back at me!" Irina shot me a ferocious glare. Struggling to get back on her feet, she made a call. "Hey, look into someone for me. I want to kill her with my own hands! Her name's Noelle Sawyer, a black wolf… What do you mean you found nothing, you piece of trash?"

Chapter 84: The Old Sawmill Luca and Ethan crawled from the icy creek bed, slick with black mud that clung to every fibre of their clothing. The cold had been brutal, searing their lungs, but the sludge offered a brief shield against Maxwell’s thermal sensors. Ethan’s ribs throbbed with each laboured breath, yet the cold had muted the pain just enough for him to move. Their bodies shook violently, teeth chattering, limbs trembling as if their muscles themselves had forgotten how to obey.

The heavy door slid open with a hiss of cold mist. Inside, frost coated the floor in a thin white layer. The lights flickered gently, creating halos of pale blue around the single active cryo capsule at the far end of the room. Adrian’s pulse skyrocketed. “No…” He walked toward it, breath fogging in front of him. The capsule wasn’t labeled. No ID number. No research tag. Just a sleeping figure inside. He reached the glass and wiped away icy condensation with his sleeve. His knees nearly gave out.

I opened my mouth slightly to answer, but no words came out. Nick leaned towards me, our faces getting closer, then he fell silent, waiting for my answer. He didn't touch me, but being this close to him had the same effect as if he had touched me... I couldn't think clearly. I swallowed my saliva to moisten my dry throat, the only part of me that felt cold was my hands, which were still holding the wine glass I hadn't touched yet. The faint smell of aftershave mixed with mint made my brain even foggier, but Nick still looked at me patiently.

I felt like I was being slowly encased in a shroud of ice, my breath visible in the chill air as I struggled to comprehend the source of this creeping, deadly cold. The cold was suffocating, a heavy, oppressive weight that crushed the air from my lungs. It seeped into my very being, insidious and relentless, like a winter's chill that refused to thaw. My bones ached with a dull, numbing pain, as if the cold had taken up residence within my marrow, refusing to be dislodged.