Page 39 of Trapped with the Ice Queen

What are you going to do about it?

The storm had fully passed, leaving a clear, crisp day in its wake. Sunlight streamed through the window, glinting off the untouched snow outside and casting fractured beams across the cabin walls. Yet inside, the air felt colder, heavier, as if Vivienne had taken all the warmth when she had left.

Alex sat at the edge of her bed, cradling a mug of coffee between her hands. The steam curled upward in lazy spirals, its faint bitterness filling the cabin. She hadn’t bothered with breakfast; the thought of eating turned her stomach. The coffee was barely warm now, more an excuse to keep her hands occupied than a source of comfort. She stared into the mug, as though the swirling liquid might offer answers she couldn’t find on her own.

Her gaze drifted to the corner of the cabin, where Vivienne’s presence stilllingered in subtle ways. A faint indentation in the pillow she’d used. The mug she’d favored, now washed but not yet put away. Alex swallowed hard, the memories sharp and immediate. She could almost hear Vivienne’s voice, the teasing lilt of it, the way it softened when she spoke of things she cared about.

Alex stood in front of the small mirror above the sink, her reflection sharp and unyielding. The person staring back at her looked tired, worn thin by regret and indecision. Her hair was still damp from a quick shower, the scent of pine soap clinging faintly to her skin, but the routine had done little to clear her head.

Her gaze shifted to the window. The vast stretch of snow glistened under the sunlight, serene and unbroken. It felt like a taunt—how something so still could hold so much chaos beneath its surface. That chaos mirrored the storm still raging in her chest.

On the table behind her lay her pack and coat, waiting. The sight made her throat tighten. She had packed the essentials: a change of clothes, a few snacks, and the paper bird Vivienne had given her. The birdwas tucked between her folded sweater, its edges carefully protected.

Unfolded, it would just be an ordinary scrap of paper. But folded, it carried weight—a symbol of something fragile yet enduring, a glimpse of Vivienne’s heart that Alex had struggled to hold on to.

Alex ran her fingers over the counter, her thoughts restless. She had spent days trapped in a cycle of regret, reliving every moment of Vivienne’s stay, every laugh, every glance, every argument. She had tried to convince herself it was for the best, that letting Vivienne go was the right thing to do, for both of them. But that lie had worn thin, leaving her raw and exposed.

She turned back to the mirror, studying her reflection. Her own face felt unfamiliar, marked by the weight of emotions she had spent years suppressing. She had built a life on solitude, convincing herself that love was a risk not worth taking. But now, that life felt hollow, like the snow outside—beautiful but cold, silent but suffocating.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Alex whispered, her voice breaking the stillness of the room.

Her eyes flicked to her bag again, wherethe paper bird was encased, protected. The gift had been unexpected, a moment of vulnerability that Alex hadn’t known how to accept. Now, it felt like a beacon, calling her toward something she wasn’t sure she deserved but couldn’t ignore.

She turned from the mirror and walked to the window, her breath fogging the glass as she leaned against it. Her mind raced with questions, doubts, fears. Would Vivienne even want to see her again? Had Alex pushed her too far away? Could love really bridge the gap between them?

Her heart ached with the uncertainty, but for the first time, it also pulsed with hope. She thought of Vivienne’s laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about the things she loved, the way she had fought through the storm with an unyielding spirit.

“I can’t let this end here,” Alex murmured, the resolve in her voice steeling her.

She turned back to the table, her movements steady now. The pack was light, but it carried the weight of a decision that felt monumental. She slung it over her shoulder, her fingers brushing against the coat’s rough fabric as she grabbed it.

Alex took one last look around the cabin. The fire had long since burned out, leaving only ashes behind. The space felt emptier than it ever had, the silence pressing in on her.

“This isn’t home anymore,” she said softly, her words a farewell.

As she stepped outside, the cold air hit her, sharp and bracing. The mountains stood tall and indifferent, their snowy peaks piercing the blue sky. The path before her was uncertain, but for the first time, she didn’t feel afraid.

Alex zipped her coat and adjusted the pack on her shoulder. She had no idea what waited for her in New York, no guarantees that Vivienne would even hear her out. But she knew one thing for certain: She couldn’t stay here, trapped by her own fear.

Not anymore.

With one final glance at the cabin that had been her fortress for years, Alex started down the path, her boots crunching against the snow. The weight in her chest lifted slightly with each step, replaced by something unfamiliar but welcome.

Hope.

13

VIVIENNE

The city moved at its usual breakneck pace, but Vivienne felt like she was standing still.

Her office sat perched above the chaos, a pristine bubble in the midst of it all. Sunlight slanted through the glass panes, spilling onto her modern desk and casting angular shadows against the cream walls. The skyline stretched beyond, all sharp lines and gleaming edges, a perfect mirror of her life—or what it used to be.

She scanned the papers in front of her, black ink bleeding across contracts and correspondence, each word blurring into the next. The coffee on her desk had grown coldhours ago, untouched, its rich aroma dulled by her mounting irritation.

“Where is the draft I asked for?” Vivienne’s voice was clipped, her gaze fixed on her assistant, who hovered anxiously by the door. “I said three o’clock.”

“It’s...being finalized, Ms. Blackwood. I’ll have it in a few minutes,” the assistant stammered before retreating.

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