Page 6 of Trapped with the Ice Queen

“In this?” Vivienne gestured vaguely to the storm, her brows arching in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I like it,” Alex said simply, her focus never wavering from the road.

Vivienne frowned, her confusion palpable. “It’s...isolated.”

“That’s the point.”

Another silence stretched between them, tense and brittle. Vivienne huffed softly, clearly unimpressed with Alex’s brusque answers. Alex, for her part, had no intention of elaborating. Let the woman think she was a recluse or a weirdo; she didn’t owe her, or anyone else, an explanation for her choices.

The road grew rougher as the snow piled higher, the truck’s tires crunching over patches of ice and buried gravel. Alex adjusted her grip on the wheel, her knuckles whitening as the vehicle slid slightly on a turn. She corrected effortlessly, her body attuned to the movements of the truck.

Vivienne, however, wasanother story. She flinched at every skid and bump, her hands gripping the dash with white-knuckled intensity. Her breath came in shallow bursts, visible puffs in the cold air.

“Relax,” Alex said, her tone bordering on exasperated. “This truck’s built for this kind of weather.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Vivienne snapped, her voice tinged with panic.

Alex glanced at her, smirking despite herself. For all her poised exterior, Vivienne was flustered, her cheeks flushed and her composure cracking. She looked like a cat dropped into a puddle, outraged and utterly miserable. It was almost…endearing.

No. Not endearing. Just annoying.

“You’re not going to die in my truck,” Alex said, her voice softening despite her best efforts. “I know these roads. I’ve got this.”

Vivienne didn’t respond, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the swirling snow outside. The faint light from the dash highlighted the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck as she tilted her head slightly. She was really pretty, Alex realized with a flicker ofirritation— far too pretty for someone who was so determined to be a pain in her ass.

By the time they neared Alex’s home, the storm had reached a crescendo. Snow whipped across the windshield in dizzying spirals, and the truck’s headlights barely pierced the swirling white. Alex slowed the truck to a crawl, her eyes narrowing as she searched for the unmarked turnoff to her cabin.

“Almost there,” she said, more to herself than to Vivienne, who still didn’t look reassured.

Vivienne huddled deeper into the coats, her wide eyes staring out into the dark with a distant, almost haunted expression.

Alex clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the pang of sympathy that twisted in her gut. She didn’t want to feel anything for this woman, especially not something as inconvenient as concern. But there was something about the way Vivienne had gone quiet, her earlier defiance replaced by a fragile kind of fear, that made Alex’s chest ache.

Finally, the cabin’s silhouette emerged, a dark shape against the endless white. Relief coursed through Alex’s veinsas she pulled the truck to a stop in front of the porch. The sudden silence when she cut the engine was almost jarring, the storm’s roar muffled now by the walls of the truck.

“Stay here while I get the door open,” Alex said, her voice curt. She didn’t wait for a response, shoving the door open and stepping out into the biting wind.

The cold hit her like a wall, stealing her breath and numbing her face in seconds. Snow crunched under her boots as she trudged toward the cabin, her body hunched against the storm. She fumbled with the lock for a moment before the door creaked open, the familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke wafting out like a welcome.

Turning back toward the truck, she caught sight of Vivienne through the windshield. The woman was sitting stiffly, the coats still swallowing her frame, her face half-lit by the dim glow of the interior light. She looked small, almost fragile, and for a moment Alex felt an inexplicable urge to go back and reassure her.

Shaking her head, Alex dismissed the thought. Fragile or not, Vivienne Blackwood was here now, and that was Alex’s problem to deal with.

3

VIVIENNE

The moment Vivienne crossed the threshold of Alex’s cabin, she knew she was in trouble.

The transition from bitter cold to sudden warmth hit her like a brick wall, stinging her frozen cheeks. Melted snow dripped from her cashmere sweater dress onto the wooden floor, each drop a reminder of how utterly unprepared she was for this situation. Her feet, numb in her ruined leather boots, screamed back to life with painful tingles.

Alex's cabin was a single room—rustic, cramped, and wholly unremarkable. Weathered logs made up the walls, their uneven surfaces absorbing what little light filteredthrough the storm-dimmed windows. A wood-burning stove dominated one corner, radiating heat that fought against the drafts sneaking through the cabin's seams. The scent of woodsmoke clung to everything: the mismatched furniture, the worn curtains, even the air itself.

Vivienne froze in the entryway, clutching her luggage like a lifeline. Somewhere in her bags was a cream silk pajama set she'd packed for lounging in front of a beautiful gas fireplace as she sipped champagne. The reality of her new situation settled over her like a lead weight. This couldn't be the place. Surely, there was another door somewhere, one that led to something more civilized.

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