Ice Castle

Castle Tech Enterprise.

The beacon of innovation, power, and prestige.

At the grand entrance of the towering blue-glass superstructure, there's an enormous high-definition screen playing a promotional video. Its vibrant display commands attention. 

"Founded by Victor Castellijo, a man of vision ahead of his time, Castle Tech Enterprise began as a small workshop crafting the future. It grew beyond gadgets and machines through relentless innovation, evolving into a technological empire. Under the leadership of Rodney Castellijo, we don't just create devices—we define the next era."

A deep, commanding voice narrated over the detailed projections, accompanied by an aerial shot of the imposing glass-and-steel structure.

Despite being on the top floor of her father's headquarters, Reane could still see the sharp visuals reflected against the glass, the words ringing in her ears as if they were meant for her alone.

The screen flickered more, displaying shifting portraits of the company's leaders. Then came Victor Castellijo, with sharp eyes and an engineer's precision, his image cast in gray—a solemn indication of his passing. Despite that, he remained an excellent company symbol, followed by the executives who carried on his legacy.

Finally, the last image appeared—the brilliant photo of Rodney Castellijo, standing in his executive office, exuding the authority of a man who now held an empire.

A soft scoff escaped Reane's lips as she sat in the waiting room, the words of the commercial still echoing in her head.

"Vision, excellence, the future…"

She had heard them so many times that they had lost all meaning.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, Reane let her gaze drift downward. The massive screen outside the entrance continued flashing its polished message to the world. At the same time, engineers, IT specialists, and business moguls walked through the doors below, their lives intertwined with the empire her father ruled. But up here, time stretched endlessly. 

Nothing moved. Nothing changed.

She had always despised this building. Since childhood, she had seen it as nothing short of hell, while outsiders who were blinded by its prestige, high salaries, and grandeur—praised it as heaven. Thousands flocked here daily, not just employees but tourists and influencers alike. The very thought of it made her stomach turn.

"Ren, you have to sit down. You're stressing yourself."

Sylvia's gentle yet firm tone pulled her from her deep thoughts. She's seated gracefully on the leather sofa while sipping her tea, exuding a patience that Reane found almost impossible to mirror.

"Your father just wants to talk to you; I'm sure everything will be alright." 

Reane started to walk around, annoyed, not because of what her father might talk about but rather for waiting for him. 

Sylvia can see the irritation in her daughter's reaction, so she puts down the cup she's holding on the coffee table beside her and faces Reane with her eyes narrowed. 

Reane was alarmed as she didn't want to enrage her mother over the things she could control, and she thought, 

'You don't want to make a woman sipping hot tea at noon angry.' 

"Fine, but we've been waiting here for almost an hour. Why can't I talk to him at home later instead? Dad is always busy anyway. It's a weekend, and he's still working." 

Reane complained and sat down on the chair in front of Sylvia, crossing her arms in her chest. 

"You know your father has a lot to do, but despite that, he always makes time for our family. That's why he waited for you here, so be a little more patient," Sylvia explained before picking up her cup of tea again and sipping it calmly.

Reane huffed and rolled her eyes.

Just then, a soft knock on the door caught her attention. She stood up and went to answer it. 

A stern, imposing man stepped into the room, his tailored three-piece navy suit pristine and precise. His layered haircut was neatly styled, and his sharply trimmed beard framed a face devoid of excess emotion. There was no trace of warmth in this man's measured steps or the weight of his presence. There was only discipline, control, and an unspoken authority that demanded respect.

Reane's expression faltered—he wasn't the one she had hoped for.

"Hello, Gilliard. how are you doing?" Sylvia greeted the man nicely, but Reane didn't do the same and plainly asked. 

"Where's my father? How long do we have to wait here, Gil?" 

 "Hello Lady Reane and Madam Castellijo." Gilliard greeted with no hint of emotion and then looked at Reane. 

"The chairman asked me to come here and bring you to his office on the top floor," Gilliard said coldly.

"To his office? To wait there instead? Ugh." Reane grumbled before storming out of the room, with Sylvia following behind.

Gilliard closed the door, but before he could leave, his phone rang—it was an urgent call.

"It's okay, Gilliard. We'll go ahead; you don't have to come with us," Sylvia assured him gently.

"Thank you, Ma'am." Gilliard gave a slight bow as a sign of respect before heading in a different direction. It seemed he intended to use the stairs at the far end of the floor while Reane and Sylvia made their way to the elevator.

As they waited, Reane's gaze followed Gilliard's retreating figure. She had never liked his demeanor—his cold, rigid attitude toward people always irked her.

For as long as she could remember, Gilliard had been around. As the son of Marco, the Castellijo family's butler, he had practically grown up in their household, always lingering in the background. Though they were childhood acquaintances, they had never been close—walking separate paths despite existing in the same world.

Eventually, Gilliard became her father's administrative assistant, following in his family's footsteps of unwavering service to the Castellijos. Despite their long history, Reane and Gilliard never had a normal or pleasant conversation, only exchanging formal greetings or brief words when necessary. To her, he was like a machine, a puppet bound to her father's will—just like so many others, including herself.

Sometimes, she even felt that he disliked her as much as she disliked him. Seeing him always made her feel more agitated, especially in situations like this. Nic and Reane often joked about him, saying, 'With his looks, women would flock to him if he showed some emotion,' or teasingly calling him 'the Ice Knight serving the Ice King in this frozen castle.'

Strangely enough, Gilliard never seemed to change. No matter how many years passed, his cold façade remained the same.

---

As soon as Reane and Sylvia stepped onto the top floor, Reane rushed toward her father's office, leaving Sylvia by the elevator. 

She peeked through the glass panel on the door and saw her father speaking with someone. Regardless, she didn't hesitate to push the door open and interrupt them.

"Looks like you're still busy. Do you want us to wait again?" Reane asked in a bitter tone, feigning innocence as she ignored the other man's presence in the room.

Sylvia arrived moments later and immediately sensed an unspoken conflict between Reane and Rodney, and she knew that she had to intervene.

"We're sorry for interrupting; we'll come back later," Sylvia said smoothly, reaching for Reane's hand to guide her away.

But Rodney's firm voice stopped them.

"He was just leaving."

With that, he handed a gray envelope to the man, who accepted it silently. Before leaving, the man cast a brief glance at Sylvia and gave her a respectful nod, which she returned. Then, without another word, the man walked past them and exited the room.

Reane's brows knitted in confusion as this young man didn't look like an employee of their company. He stood out in his black leather jacket despite the summer heat outside. He's also tall, at least six feet, with a well-built frame, dark skin, and long hair tied in a bun. A mysterious presence lingered around him, but a sudden ringing from her father's desk stole her attention before she could dwell on it further.

Rodney answered it and put it on speaker.

—"My apologies, Sir Castellijo, but guests who wish to speak with you are waiting,"— his secretary informed him.

"Not this again!" Reane's eyes widened in disbelief. Were they going to have to wait again?

Sylvia sighed, already exhausted by the situation. She sat on the office sofa and calmly told Rodney, "Tell your secretary you'll speak with the guest later, or they can come in another time."

Reane stared at her mother, baffled. If that was an option, why did we have to wait earlier? she thought bitterly. Huffing, she threw herself onto the sofa beside Sylvia. 

"Did you hear that?" Rodney asked his secretary.

—"Yes, as you wish, Sir."—

The call ended shortly, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake.

"Finally," Reane muttered as she ran a hand through her hair in frustration. 

"Let's make this quick, shall we?" Her voice was edged with impatience.

Rodney exhaled, steepling his fingers, and his gaze was unreadable.

"That depends on you."