The Ice King’s Proposal

"I accept… Mr. Velasco."

The words slipped from Lyra's lips as easily as a lie—but she had spent years mastering both.

Dominic Velasco said nothing for a long time. His obsidian eyes scanned her face, not for beauty—he wasn't that kind of man—but for weakness. For cracks in her mask.

He found none.

Instead, he tapped the edge of the contract resting on the sleek, black-glass desk between them.

"This arrangement," he said slowly, "comes with rules."

"I assumed," Lyra replied, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "You don't strike me as the spontaneous type."

A flicker—almost a smirk—touched the corner of his mouth. It vanished just as quickly.

"You'll move into my residence. We will attend events together. Board members, investors, and press will believe this is a legitimate marriage."

"Of course."

"There will be no affection in public unless required. No interviews. No scandals."

She tilted her head. "I wasn't planning to join a reality show, if that's what you're worried about."

Dominic leaned forward, his voice like a blade wrapped in velvet.

"And absolutely no emotional entanglements."

Lyra smiled. "Don't worry, Mr. Velasco. I'm not the type to fall."

The contract was signed within the hour.

Not in a courthouse, not even in a lawyer's office—but here, in the private top-floor suite of Velasco International. The very heart of his empire. And now… the stage for hers.

She skimmed the final pages as his assistant, a man named Lucas, notarized the document with clinical efficiency.

Dominic signed without hesitation, the pen gliding across the page in smooth, lethal strokes.

When he finished, he closed the file and stood.

"It's done."

She rose as well, straightening the black blazer she wore over her sleek silk top. "So," she said, tone casual, "do I call you 'darling' now or wait until the press conference?"

He blinked once. "I prefer 'Mr. Velasco.'"

She chuckled. "Cold. Just like the rumors say."

The elevator ride down was silent.

Lyra stood beside him, her reflection in the mirrored walls almost unfamiliar. Strong jawline. Steady eyes. Chin held high.

She had walked into this building as Elena Navarro.

She was leaving it as Dominic Velasco's wife—on paper, at least.

Outside the glass doors of the lobby, the world swarmed. Cameras. Lights. Reporters pressed against velvet ropes.

Lucas turned. "Ready?"

Lyra slipped her sunglasses on.

"Let's give them a show."

Flashes burst like fireworks the moment they stepped out.

"Mr. Velasco! Who is she?"

"Are the marriage rumors true?"

"Miss Navarro! Are you engaged?!"

Dominic reached for her hand.

She let him take it.

The moment his fingers slid into hers, everything shifted. The crowd roared. The flashbulbs doubled. Time slowed.

And then—he pulled her close.

A kiss.

Not rough. Not rushed. Just enough.

His lips brushed hers with clinical precision, like it was a necessary task—and perhaps for him, it was.

But for Lyra… the world tilted.

Not because she felt anything romantic. That part of her had been incinerated long ago.

But because the man in front of her was no fool—and she knew he was already watching her. Studying her.

As if he knew.

As if he sensed.

They left the press gasping in their wake.

By nightfall, the news had spread across social media like wildfire.

"Dominic Velasco Confirms Surprise Engagement to Elena Navarro!"

"Velasco Heir Off the Market—Who Is the Mysterious Bride-to-Be?"

Inside her new residence—a minimalist glass fortress perched on the cliffs of Tagaytay—Lyra walked barefoot across cold floors.

The villa was as cold as its owner. Gray marble. Steel furnishings. No warmth. No color. Not a trace of sentimentality anywhere.

Just like the man himself.

She had barely set down her bag when Dominic appeared in the doorway.

"You'll be sleeping in the east wing. My quarters are private."

Lyra raised a brow. "So much for a honeymoon suite."

He didn't blink. "This isn't a honeymoon."

"No," she said softly. "It's a battlefield."

He paused.

Then, with the faintest nod, he turned and left.

Later that night, she stood on the balcony of her new room, staring at the stars above Taal Volcano.

Her fingers ran over the wedding band now circling her finger. Platinum. Heavy. Expensive.

Meaningless.

Behind her, the walls echoed silence. Not just the absence of sound—but a deliberate, suffocating stillness.

Dominic Velasco didn't bring people into his life.

He brought pawns onto his chessboard.

But Lyra Reyes was no pawn.

And Dominic?

He was just the next king she planned to knock off his throne.

He thought he married a stranger. One day, he would realize—he married the storm.