Page 7 of Trapped with the Ice Queen

Alex glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow. Snowmelt darkened her jacket, but she seemed unbothered by the wet or cold. "You coming in or planning to freeze out there?"

"I—yes, of course," Vivienne stammered, stepping fully inside. The door shut behind her with a thunk that felt disturbingly final, cutting off the howl of the wind. The cabin, for all its faults, was warm, but it felt stifling. Claustrophobic. The walls seemed to press in, and she fought the urge to fling thewindows open and let the cold rush in, just to escape the overwhelming earthiness of it all.

Her gaze darted around, cataloging everything the space lacked. No thermostat. No state-of-the-art appliances or pristine surfaces. And, worst of all, no router or any sign of Wi-Fi. Her perfectly manicured nails, one broken from her earlier ordeal in the storm, clicked against her phone screen as she tapped it instinctively, as if sheer determination might summon a signal.

Alex dropped her bag near the stove with a wet thud, shaking the snow from her coat. Water droplets scattered across the floor, adding to the growing puddle around Vivienne's feet. "Don't bother. There's no service out here."

"I wasn't—" Vivienne began, but the three little bars refusing to appear on her screen betrayed her. She snapped the phone shut with a frustrated huff, the sound echoing in the too-small space.

“Right." Alex's lips quirked in what might've been a smirk, though it vanished as she turned to stack firewood next to the stove. Each log landed with a solid thunk that made Vivienne wince.

Vivienne turned her attention to the room again, willing herself to find something redeeming. A pile of books sat on a low table near a threadbare armchair, their spines worn and titles faded. A single mug rested on the kitchen counter, a faint ring marking its base. Tools hung neatly on the wall—an array of hammers, saws, and other implements she couldn't name but which, apparently, Alex found necessary. The whole place felt too primitive, too practical. No sense of real style.

Her designer sweater dress, damp from the snow, clung uncomfortably to her skin. She shifted, trying to find a position where the wet fabric didn't touch her, but it was impossible. The room's warmth only seemed to highlight how out of place she felt.

"I see you're not a fan of modern conveniences," Vivienne said, her voice sharper than intended. A draft whistled through some unseen crack, making her shiver despite the stove's heat.

Alex shrugged, not looking up from the firewood. The flames cast shadows across her face, highlighting the strong line of her jaw. Vivienne noticed how strikingly attractiveAlex might be… in another world, of course. “I don't need much."

Vivienne bristled at the implication. "Well, clearly."

The sarcasm slid off Alex like melted snow, and she moved with an ease that grated on Vivienne—practical, steady, and wholly indifferent to the storm outside or the chaos brewing inside Vivienne's mind. The sound of her boots on the wooden floor was sure, confident, a stark contrast to Vivienne's own unsteady footing.

Desperate for a sense of control, Vivienne crossed the one-room cabin to the books and straightened them into a neat pile, her fingers leaving damp prints on their worn covers. Then she adjusted the throw blanket draped over the armchair, smoothing its edges. It was handmade, she realized, the stitches irregular but sturdy. Nothing like the cashmere throws that adorned her own furniture back home. It was a small act, but it felt like reclaiming a piece of herself.

"Didn't know you were an interior designer," Alex said, her tone unreadable.

Vivienne ignored her. The neatlyarranged books gave her some satisfaction, though it was short-lived. She glanced back at Alex, who was now crouched by the stove, coaxing a flame to life with maddening efficiency. The fire's glow softened her features, catching the hints of gold in her hair.

She found herself studying her rescuer despite herself. The way Alex's hands moved, sure and deliberate, as if every action served a purpose. The faint furrow in her brow, the flash of firelight catching in her dark eyes. There was an unshakable steadiness to her, a calm that should have been reassuring but only fueled Vivienne's irritation.

"Do you even have central heating?" she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it. Her toes curled in her wet boots, seeking warmth that wasn't there.

Alex glanced up, one eyebrow arching. A spark from the fire cast her face in momentary light. "That's what the stove's for."

"Right," Vivienne muttered, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Another shiver ran through her, this one hard enough to make her teeth chatter.

The room suddenly feltsmaller, and the absence of Wi-Fi loomed large in her mind. She fumbled with her phone again, stepping toward the nearest window in a desperate attempt to find a signal. The screen remained blank, reflecting only her own frustrated expression.

Frost patterns decorated the window's edges, delicate whorls that might have been beautiful in any other circumstance. Vivienne climbed onto the chair by the window, angling her phone upward. Her wet shoes slipped slightly on the worn upholstery, and her balance, already precarious, wavered.

"Careful," Alex said sharply as Vivienne wobbled, one hand shooting out to steady herself.

"I've got it," Vivienne snapped, but she didn't—not entirely. Her grip faltered, and Alex's hand closed around her arm just as she started to slip.

The touch was brief, firm, and surprisingly warm through the damp fabric of her sleeve.

"You okay?" Alex asked, her voice low but not unkind.

"Yes," Vivienne said quickly, jerking her arm away. The chair steadied beneath her,but her heart raced—and not because she almost fell. The warmth of Alex's touch lingered, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled into her bones.

Alex paused for a moment before stepping back. "If you're done climbing furniture, maybe you should settle in. Storm's not letting up anytime soon."

Vivienne glared at her, but the sting of her own helplessness dulled the silent retort that died on her tongue. She stepped off the chair, her phone clutched tightly in her hand like a shield.

"Fine," she said, though nothing about this situation was fine. Not the storm. Not the cabin. And certainly not Alex Carter. Not the way the room's warmth was slowly seeping into her frozen limbs, making her increasingly aware of every point of contact between her wet clothes and sensitive skin.

The storm howled outside, a reminder that she was well and truly trapped.

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