Page 40 of Trapped with the Ice Queen

Vivienne’s jaw tightened as she turned her focus back to the papers, the office eerily quiet except for the hum of the city outside, as if everyone were afraid of breathing around her. It wasn’t the delay that had set her off; it was everything else—the gnawing emptiness that had rooted itself in her chest since she left Colorado.

She had thought throwing herself back into work would help. It hadn’t.

Her staff walked on eggshells, their usual respect now tinged with unease. She knew her behavior had changed, sharp edges where charm used to be. Meetings felt hollow; triumphs rang false. Every time she closed her eyes, the memories crept in: the warmth of the cabin’s firelight, the sharp bite of the snowstorm, and Alex—always Alex.

The woman who had unraveled her carefully constructed life with quiet strength and maddening vulnerability.

Vivienne straightened her posture, adjusting the cuffs of her tailored blazer. She refused to cry. Not here, not now. The carefully curated image of Vivienne Blackwood didn’t allow for cracks.

But there were cracks.

She caught her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, faint and ghostlike against the glittering cityscape. Her makeup was flawless, her hair meticulously styled, but her eyes told another story. They were tired, shadowed by nights spent reliving the cabin and all its tangled emotions.

It wasn’t just heartbreak; it was the dissonance of being back in a life that no longer fit.

She stood abruptly, moving to the window as if the eagle-eye view could offer clarity. The city stretched endlessly before her, vibrant and unyielding, but she felt no connection to it now. She had spent years mastering this place, molding herself into someone untouchable. And yet, all it had taken was a storm and astubborn woman in a cabin to make her question everything.

Vivienne’s fingers found her necklace, a simple silver chain with a small pendant she had worn for years. She rolled it between her fingers absently, the motion a tether to the present.

“You’re not even here,” she whispered to herself under her breath, the words barely audible.

Her phone buzzed, jolting her back to the present. She ignored it. The constant demands of her position, once exhilarating, now felt like white noise. A knock at the door followed, and her assistant peeked inside, timid but determined.

“Ms. Blackwood, the draft is ready for review,” she said, holding out a folder.

Vivienne took it without a word, retreating to her desk. She flipped it open, scanning the lines with mechanical efficiency. Every word was polished, every detail accounted for, yet none of it mattered. Not really.

Her gaze drifted to the framed picture on her desk, the one she had ignored for weeks. It held a picture of her and her brother at agala, both smiling for the camera. She remembered how Alex had asked about him once, a casual curiosity that felt anything but. Alex had cared about the details, about the parts of Vivienne she had long since buried beneath ambition and appearances.

The memory stung, but it also lit a small flame in her chest—a reminder of something she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Not just yet.

Vivienne set the folder aside, sat down, and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. The city hummed beyond the walls, indifferent and eternal, but inside her office, the silence was deafening.

It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough.

Vivienne sat at her desk, her fingers poised over her keyboard, though the words on the screen blurred together, meaningless. Her coffee sat untouched beside her, its once-steamy liquid now cold, a reflection of her lack of focus. The latest projections for the next quarter, notes from a client meeting, and a half-written email were all vying for her attention. But her mind refusedto focus. It drifted, as it always did, back to the Rockies, to the cabin, to Alex. She tried to steady herself, to rein in the thoughts that unraveled each time she took a breath, but they slipped away again, tugging her toward memories she wasn’t ready to face.

They were still too painful.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples, her gaze flicking to the skyline outside her office window. The city stretched endlessly, its rhythm a steady hum beneath her feet, but it felt like a backdrop, distant and cold. Not like the cabin—wild but alive, pulling her into its embrace even when it hurt.

Her assistant’s voice crackled through the intercom, jolting her from her thoughts. “Ms. Blackwood, there’s someone here to see you. They say it’s important.”

Vivienne frowned, irritation prickling her already frayed nerves. “Is it the investor? I thought we rescheduled.”

A pause. “No, ma’am. They aren’t on the schedule.”

Vivienne sighed, straightening her blazer as she sat up in her chair. “Fine. Send them in.”

The door opened, and Vivienne turned with rehearsed composure, ready to dismiss whoever it was. But the words froze in her throat when she saw Alex standing there, her patched pack slung over her shoulder, looking as out of place in her office just as much as Vivienne must have looked out of place that first day in Alex’s cabin.

For a moment, the world stilled. The hum of the city, the ticking of the clock, even her own breath—all of it faded. Only Alex remained, a vivid figure against the muted gray of her office.

“Hi,” Alex said, her voice soft but steady.

Vivienne’s chest tightened, a rush of emotions flooding her—relief, anger, longing, and something deeper, a trembling ache she hadn’t dared to fully feel until now. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Alex stepped forward, her boots scuffing against the waxed floor. “I needed to see you. To tell you”—she hesitated, glancing around the sleek, impersonal office—“to tell you that I was wrong.”

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