Page 1 of Vacation with the Ice Queen

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SERENA

Cold morning light sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Frost Innovations' executive boardroom, casting long shadows across the smudgeless glass table. Serena Frost stood at its head, her spine rigid as the Manhattan skyline behind her. The room's temperature—precisely sixty-eight degrees, as always—felt several degrees colder as seven pairs of eyes fixed on the screens displaying plummeting stock values and damning headlines.

"'Frost Innovations Plunges Amid Blackwood Scandal,'" Walter Semken read aloud, his voice carrying the practiced neutrality of someone enjoying another's misfortune while pretending otherwise. "Perhaps you'd care to explain how we lost eighteen percent of our market value in three days, Serena?"

Serena's expression remained as smooth and impenetrable as the ice sculpture that had once been commissioned for the company's tenth anniversary. Only the tightening of her fingers against the platinum watch on her wrist betrayed any reaction.

"The situation is being handled," she said, each word precisely measured. "Our legal team has evidence of intellectualproperty theft. The doctored emails Vivienne Blackwood released are already being forensically disproven."

The silver streaks in her raven hair caught the light as she turned her head slightly, giving her the appearance of a predator assessing which member of the herd to cull first. The movement was calculated—everything about Serena was calculated—from the tailored charcoal suit with its subtle power shoulders to the four-inch heels that elevated her already imposing height.

"Being handled?" Janet Ross, the newest board member, leaned forward. "Three of our biggest clients have suspended their contracts pending the investigation. The media is portraying you as vindictive rather than vigilant. Meanwhile, Vivienne Blackwood is being hailed as cybersecurity's fashionable new savior."

Serena reached forward, tapping the screen to advance to the next slide of her presentation. The deliberate motion disguised the white-knuckle tension in her hands.

"If we're discussing fashion rather than facts, perhaps I've walked into the wrong meeting." Her voice carried the subtle chill that had earned her the Ice Queen of Tech moniker years ago. "Our security protocols remain the industry standard. Vivienne Blackwood's system is fundamentally compromised, as the breaches at twelve fashion houses will soon demonstrate."

Walter cleared his throat, exchanging glances with Douglas Harper at the far end of the table. The silent communication wasn't lost on Serena. Nothing was.

"The board's concern extends beyond this immediate crisis." Walter's tone shifted from professional to paternal, a voice Serena despised with every fiber of her being. "There's a pattern of... judgment issues developing."

Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Elaborate."

"The Blackwood collaboration was your initiative," he continued. "You vouched for Vivienne personally. And this comes only months after your... personal situation."

The room temperature seemed to drop another five degrees. No one had dared mention her divorce in these meetings before. The intrusion of her private life into this sanctuary of control sent a surge of ice through her veins.

"My divorce has no bearing on my capacity to lead this company," Serena said, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood. The weight of her watch suddenly felt like a manacle. "Unless the board has evidence suggesting otherwise?"

Douglas finally spoke, his southern accent incongruous in the sterile Manhattan boardroom. "It speaks to a pattern, Serena. First Rachel leaves after ten years, claiming you're..." He faltered, then pushed forward. "Claiming you're emotionally unavailable. Then this partnership implodes in a remarkably similar fashion."

The sun shifted behind the skyline, sending a shaft of light directly across the table. Serena stood unblinking as it illuminated her face, refusing to shield her eyes or show discomfort.

"I built this company from nothing into a four-billion-dollar enterprise that protects governments and financial institutions worldwide," she said. "I've navigated industrial espionage, market crashes, and technological revolutions. If the board wishes to question my leadership based on a personal vendetta from Vivienne Blackwood and divorce proceedings that are frankly none of your business, perhaps we should reevaluate who sits at this table rather than who stands at its head."

The threat hung in the air, crystalline and sharp. Several board members shifted uncomfortably, but Walter held her gaze.

"No one questions your brilliance, Serena. Or what you've built." His eyes dropped to the tablet before him. "But even you must acknowledge that Frost Innovations' reputation is intrinsically linked with yours. And right now, both are under fire."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" The question emerged like the first crack in a frozen lake—barely perceptible, but indicating deeper fractures below.

"The board is formally recommending you take a short leave while PR manages this situation. Two weeks, possibly three." Walter slid a document across the glass surface. "We've already drafted the statement announcing your temporary step back to focus on strategic vision while operations continue under Ashley's direction."

The betrayal sliced through her defenses with surgical precision. Ashley Kernahan, her COO, had said nothing about this. The room's air suddenly felt too thin to breathe properly.

"I see." Serena didn't reach for the document. Instead, she closed her presentation with a decisive tap. "We'll reconvene after I've reviewed your... suggestion."

She gathered her materials, the movement unhurried despite the storm raging beneath her surface. The weight of seven gazes pressed against her back as she walked to the door, heels clicking with metronomic precision against the hardwood floor.

Only when the elevator doors closed behind her did Serena allow herself a single deep breath, the mirrored walls reflecting a woman still perfectly composed, still in control, despite the ice beneath her feet beginning to fracture in ways no one else could see.

The elevator carried Serena seventeen floors down from the boardroom to her executive suite, each passing floor a countdown to compose herself. No one entered during the descent—few dared share an elevator with the CEO even on hergood days. By the time the doors opened with a discreet chime, her mask was firmly back in place.

The glass door to her office whispered shut behind her, sealing her within her sanctuary of steel and precision. Only here, in this fortress of her own design, did she allow herself three steps—exactly three—before her shoulders dropped a quarter inch.

Nicole Roberts, her executive assistant, appeared in the doorway like a wraith, tablet in hand, her bold crimson dress the only splash of color in the monochromatic space. "The PR team is standing by. Legal wants ten minutes. And Vivienne Blackwood just gave another interview." Her dark eyes flicked momentarily to Serena's face, assessing with the practiced vigilance that had made her indispensable over seven years as Serena's right hand.

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