Chapter Three: House of Ice

It had only been three days since the contract was signed, yet Lia Morgan already felt like she was playing house with a ghost.

Damien Cross was a man of routine. He left early, came back late, and barely said more than a few words to her in passing. Their marriage existed on paper, in the press, and in the calculated decisions of his legal advisor, but not in the air they breathed inside that penthouse.

Lia paced the living room in fuzzy socks and a silk robe, her tablet in one hand as she adjusted the sketch of a wedding dress. The irony didn't escape her.

"You need breakfast," Gloria said as she passed by, arms full of laundry.

"I need my life back," Lia muttered, not entirely joking.

Gloria chuckled under her breath. "At least take toast. Artists don't work well on an empty stomach."

"I'm not an artist," Lia said, plopping onto the couch. "I'm just someone playing wife in an iceberg."

"You're a fighter," Gloria replied with a glance over her shoulder. "And I've lived long enough to know when something cold is about to melt."

Lia gave a dry laugh. "If Damien ever melts, it'll be in a volcano."

Gloria didn't argue.

Across the city, Damien stood at the edge of his glass-walled office, arms crossed behind his back as he stared down at the skyline. Ethan Hale leaned against the desk behind him, flipping through a file.

"She moved in?" Ethan asked.

"Yes."

"How's the marriage going?" he said with an ironic smile.

Damien turned his head slightly. "It's quiet. Efficient."

"So, miserable."

Damien didn't reply. He never did when Ethan hit too close to the truth.

"You know, if you actually tried talking to her..."

"This isn't about companionship. It's protection," Damien cut in. "The board won't push back if they see I've settled down."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You keep saying that. But there are other ways to get people off your back that don't involve emotionally imploding on someone's daughter."

"She agreed to the terms."

"Desperation makes people say yes to a lot of things."

Damien's jaw clenched. "It's temporary."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Ethan dropped the file and left Damien with his silence and an uncomfortable tug in his chest.

That evening, Damien returned home earlier than usual. It was quiet, as always, except for faint music playing in the guest suite. He followed the sound, pausing outside Lia's door. She was singing softly under her breath, pencil in hand, sketching something with an intensity he hadn't seen before.

He didn't mean to knock. It just happened.

The music stopped. "Yeah?"

He opened the door halfway. "I… wasn't sure if you wanted to eat."

Lia blinked. "You're asking me to dinner?"

"I'm informing you," he replied stiffly. "Dinner's in twenty."

She tilted her head. "Is that how you usually invite people?"

"I don't usually invite anyone."

She gave him a half-smile. "Guess that makes me special."

He ignored the flutter that caused in his chest.

Dinner was steak, wine, and silence, until Lia cleared her throat.

"I've been thinking," she said. "About the gala."

Damien didn't look up from his glass. "What about it?"

"You said to look professional. Should I be the silent wife in the background or the charming socialite by your side?"

"You're my wife. Be what you need to be."

"Spoken like a true puppet master."

He glanced at her, one brow raised. "Are you always this sarcastic?"

"Only when I'm being ignored by my husband."

Damien set down his fork. "I'm not ignoring you. I'm maintaining boundaries."

Lia laughed softly, bitterly. "Boundaries? Damien, I sleep in your house. I wear your name. The least you could do is try to know the woman you legally own for a year."

"I don't own you."

"You act like you do."

Their eyes locked. The tension wasn't just anger, it was something else. Thicker. Heavier. As if both knew this was more than a contract. It was a test neither of them had prepared for.

"I'm not the villain you think I am," Damien said quietly.

Lia studied him. "Then stop hiding behind cold rules and show me."

The next morning, Lia found a box waiting at her door. Inside was an elegant sapphire gown with a handwritten note on top:

Wear this to the gala. It suits your fire better than silver.

—D.

Her fingers paused on the paper.

He noticed.

The night of the gala arrived like a storm wrapped in velvet.

Lia stepped into the foyer wearing the gown, its rich blue fabric hugging her in all the right places. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and the heels Damien had left for her completed the look.

Damien was already dressed, a black tuxedo sharp enough to slice glass, his cufflinks glinting under the chandelier.

He looked up and for the first time since they met, he stared.

"You look…" he cleared his throat. "Presentable."

Lia smirked. "That was almost a compliment."

He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

She slipped her hand into his. "Let's go make them believe in fairy tales."

The gala was a blur of cameras, champagne, and whispers. Damien's arm stayed firmly around her waist, his expression unreadable. But Lia played the role perfectly, smiling, laughing lightly, charming the board members and society elites.

"Mr. Cross, you've outdone yourself," one woman cooed. "And your wife is just… radiant."

"Thank you," Damien said, his voice smooth. "I married up."

Lia blinked. He hadn't told her to smile. He hadn't corrected her. He was playing along, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a game.

But then she saw her.

Vanessa Hart.

Red dress. Smirk sharp as broken glass. And walking straight toward them.

"Well, well," Vanessa purred, eyes sliding over Lia. "Damien, you never told me you'd upgraded."

"Vanessa," Damien said coolly. "Always a pleasure."

"I thought you didn't believe in marriage."

He glanced at Lia, then back at Vanessa. "Turns out, I just needed the right partner."

Lia nearly choked on her champagne.

Vanessa's gaze narrowed. "We should catch up sometime. For old time's sake."

Damien's grip on Lia's waist tightened. "I don't live in the past."

Vanessa smiled tightly and drifted away, but the damage lingered.

"Your ex?" Lia asked under her breath.

He nodded. "Don't worry. She thrives on drama."

"She seemed threatened."

"She should be."

Lia looked up at him, startled by the conviction in his voice.

Maybe the iceberg wasn't so frozen after all.

Later, as the driver took them home in silence, Damien reached over and took her hand.

No words.

Just warmth.

And for the first time since the contract was signed… Lia didn't feel so alone.