Page 5 of Vacation with the Ice Queen

Solara Island itself appeared designed for digital invisibility. No guest photos circulated online, no reviews populated travel sites, no satellite imagery offered more than a green smudge amid blue waters. The exclusivity bordered on paranoia—something Serena reluctantly respected. Still, the absence of concrete information unsettled her. She operated best with complete data sets, not mystic promises of "transformation" and "renewal."

The clock on her desk ticked past two in the morning when she finally powered down her systems. The penthouse settled into deepening silence as she moved through final preparations. Tomorrow's chess move had been forced upon her, but the game remained unfinished.

Sleep continued to evade her as her mind raced with contingencies and counter-strategies. In the darkened bedroom, she opened the drawer of her nightstand, fingers seeking something she rarely acknowledged. Hidden beneath folders and a spare tablet lay a small silver frame, face-down since the day Rachel had left.

Serena lifted it, the weight familiar despite months of neglect. The photograph within captured a moment four years prior—their anniversary dinner at a vineyard in Tuscany. Rachel smiled directly at the camera, wine glass raised in celebration,while Serena gazed not at the lens but at Rachel, a rare unguarded expression caught in profile.

The date of their divorce finalization loomed less than two weeks away, the paperwork awaiting only her final signature. Ten years of marriage reduced to asset distribution and liability allocation—a business transaction concluding a partnership that had once seemed unbreakable.

You're too cold, Serena. Too controlled. Too boring.

The accusation resurfaced, as cutting in memory as it had been in person. Had Rachel truly seen her accurately or merely the persona she'd constructed for professional survival? The question held no practical value, yet it lingered like an unsolved equation, irritating in its resistance to resolution.

Serena returned the frame to its hidden place, face-down once more. Sentiment offered no strategic advantage in her current circumstances. The coming weeks would require focus, adaptation, and the calculated patience of a predator awaiting the perfect moment to strike.

Dawn arrived with the harsh clarity of winter light. Serena emerged from her bathroom precisely as scheduled, hair immaculately styled, makeup flawless despite her sleepless night. She wore dark trousers and a silk blouse rather than her usual suit—a minor concession to the journey ahead, but still distinctly corporate compared to most people’s traditional travel attire.

The suitcases stood ready by the door—one for clothing, another for the emergency work devices she'd smuggled past Nicole's awareness: the satellite phone from her overseas operations, the backup tablet with offline copies of critical files,and the external drive containing contingency protocols. Each item nestled between layers of island-appropriate attire, hidden from casual inspection.

The doorman announced the car's arrival with perfect timing. Serena surveyed her penthouse one final time, her gaze lingering on the wall of windows overlooking Manhattan's skyline. The city stretched before her like a kingdom temporarily beyond reach, towers catching the morning light in a display of cold brilliance that matched her own cultivated exterior.

This wasn't surrender, she reminded herself as the elevator descended toward the waiting car. This was strategic repositioning, as she'd told Ashley. A necessary withdrawal to secure the prize.

Still, as the gleaming black town car pulled away from her building, Serena couldn't suppress the foreign sensation spreading beneath her ribs, a disconcerting blend of uncertainty and something dangerously close to vulnerability. The Manhattan skyline receded in the rear window, her power base growing smaller with each passing block.

For the first time in fifteen years, Serena Frost found herself moving away from the empire she'd built and toward unfamiliar territory where the usual rules of engagement might not apply. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, she found herself straightening her spine and fixing her gaze forward with the same sharp focus that had defined her ascent.

If they wanted to exile the Ice Queen, they would learn that even in retreat, winter never truly surrendered its power. It merely gathered strength for the freeze yet to come.

Morning sunlight glinted off the darkened windows as Serena's town car pulled onto the private airfield. The Silver Resorts private jet waited for her on the tarmac, its elegant silhouette a stark contrast to the utilitarian surroundings. Unlike the commercial chaos of LaGuardia or JFK, this secludedstrip catered exclusively to those whose wealth rendered ordinary travel inconvenient—CEOs, hedge fund managers, and celebrities willing to pay premium rates for privacy.

Serena checked her watch as the driver opened her door. 8:45 a.m. Early, as always. The concrete beneath her heels radiated the morning chill through the thin soles of her designer shoes, an uncomfortable reminder of the environment she was about to enter.

Nicole stood waiting beside the jet's staircase, tablet in hand, seemingly impervious to the brisk wind that tugged at her immaculate bob. Her presence at the airfield rather than the office confirmed the gravity with which she viewed this mission. She was clearly there to ensure Serena actually departed rather than manufacture a last-minute crisis to abort the retreat.

"The weather looks clear all the way to Fiji," Nicole announced as Serena approached. "You'll stop to refuel in Los Angeles then continue direct to Nadi International. The Silver Resorts helicopter will transfer you for the final leg to Solara Island."

"Twenty-nine hours total in transit." Serena's tone conveyed her assessment of this inefficiency. "And my devices?" She already knew the answer, though.

"Will be returned to you upon your departure from the island." Nicole's tone left no room for negotiation. "Ms. Silver was quite specific about the digital detox component of the retreat."

Serena's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I need to remain operational."

"You need to appear to be on leave while remaining selectively available," Nicole corrected, extending her hand. "Phone, please."

The moment stretched between them, a quiet battle of wills. Serena had hired Nicole precisely for her unyielding backbone—the rare ability to stand firm when the situation demanded it. Now, that same quality presented an inconvenient obstacle.

She produced her primary phone with reluctance. "The board?—"

"Will receive updates through Ashley, who reports to me, who will contact you through the secure line in your villa if—and only if—intervention is truly required." Nicole tucked the phone efficiently into her bag. "Your laptop as well, please."

Serena surrendered the device, mentally calculating the remaining technology concealed in her luggage. Sufficient, if not ideal. "The latest coverage?"

Nicole's fingers swept across her tablet. "The initial response to your leave announcement has been measured. The business press is speculating about burnout, while the tech blogs are split between predicting your downfall and portraying this as a strategic regrouping."

"And Blackwood?"

"Vivienne issued a statement wishing you 'peace and clarity during this difficult time.'" Nicole's expression remained neutral, though her tone carried the appropriate distaste. "It's being interpreted as both magnanimous and condescending, depending on the outlet."

---