Chapter One – The Ice King
The elevator doors slid open with a low chime, and Elena Carter found herself staring at the twenty-seventh floor of Frost Enterprises. The sleek, polished hallway gleamed beneath her modest heels, lined with frosted glass panels that reflected her nervous face back at her. Everything about this place whispered power, wealth, and something sharper—something cold.
She tightened her grip on the leather strap of her bag, steadying her breath. This was her chance. A new job, a new start. Her life over the past year had been a storm—lost opportunities, family struggles, too many sleepless nights wondering if she'd make it through. But now, standing here, she had to believe in herself.
"Elena Carter?" a voice asked.
She turned to see a woman in her late forties, tall, thin, with neatly pinned hair and a clipboard in hand. Her glasses glinted in the fluorescent light.
"Yes, that's me."
"Good. I'm Mrs. Greene, the executive secretary. Mr. Frost is expecting you."
Expecting. The word made Elena's stomach twist. She'd heard about him—everyone had. Alexander Frost, the youngest CEO in the city to build a billion-dollar empire from nothing. His business strategies were studied in universities, his name commanded respect across boardrooms, and his reputation… well, that was something else entirely.
Cold. Merciless. Untouchable.
The tabloids called him The Ice King.
"Follow me," Mrs. Greene said, turning on her heel.
Elena trailed behind, her eyes darting to the offices they passed. Assistants tapped furiously on keyboards, analysts whispered over spreadsheets, and the quiet hum of business buzzed through the air like static. Everyone moved quickly, efficiently, as though time itself bent to the will of their employer.
Finally, they stopped in front of a massive set of double doors. The glass was tinted, the company's logo etched across the surface. Mrs. Greene knocked once, then pushed the doors open without waiting for a reply.
The office was nothing like Elena had imagined.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of the city skyline, skyscrapers glittering under the morning sun. The furniture was sharp, modern—black leather chairs, a steel desk polished to a mirror shine. Shelves lined one wall, filled with awards, framed articles, and a few carefully chosen books.
And behind the desk sat Alexander Frost.
He didn't look up at first, his eyes fixed on the tablet in his hands. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that fit his lean frame perfectly, the kind of suit that whispered money not by flashing it, but by how effortlessly it seemed to belong on him. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, contrasted with the sharp planes of his face. Strong jawline, piercing gray eyes, a mouth set in a firm line that spoke of patience worn thin.
When his gaze finally lifted, Elena felt the air in the room drop a few degrees.
"You're late," he said flatly.
Her heart skipped. She glanced at her watch—8:59 a.m. Her appointment was at nine.
"I—I thought I was early," she stammered.
"On time is late. Early is on time." His voice was deep, smooth, but there was no warmth in it. "Sit."
She obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair across from his desk. Her palms were clammy, and she prayed he couldn't see how tightly she clutched her bag.
He studied her for a long moment, silent, as though peeling back her layers with nothing more than his eyes. Finally, he set the tablet aside.
"You've worked at three firms in the last five years," he said. "Left one after six months. Why?"
Elena swallowed. "It wasn't the right fit. The environment was…" She hesitated, then decided honesty was better. "Toxic."
A flicker passed over his face—maybe surprise, maybe disdain. "And yet you lasted half a year."
She nodded.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I don't tolerate weakness here, Miss Carter. I don't have time for excuses. I expect competence, precision, and loyalty. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she said quickly.
He tilted his head, as if testing the weight of her response. "Do you? Working for me is not like working for anyone else. I demand more. Always more. If you can't handle that, walk out now."
The silence stretched, daring her. Elena forced herself to meet his gaze, even as a chill ran through her. "I can handle it."
Something shifted in his eyes—not softness, but a faint acknowledgment, as though she had passed the first of many tests.
"Very well," he said. He pulled a folder from his desk and slid it toward her. "This is your contract. Read it, sign it, and return it by the end of the day. You'll start immediately."
She reached for the folder, but her fingers brushed his desk, leaving a faint print on the polished surface. He glanced at it, then at her. "Bring a cloth tomorrow. You'll need it."
Her cheeks burned. Was he serious? Did he expect her to polish his desk too? But she bit back the retort that rose in her throat.
"Yes, Mr. Frost."
He returned to his tablet, dismissing her without a word.
Mrs. Greene, who had stood silently by the door the entire time, motioned for Elena to follow. As they stepped out, Elena felt her legs tremble beneath her.
"He's… intense," she murmured under her breath.
Mrs. Greene gave her a look. "Intense is one word for it. Survive him for three months, and you'll do what most assistants can't."
"How long do they usually last?" Elena asked cautiously.
Mrs. Greene's lips curved in something between a smile and a grimace. "A week."
Later that afternoon, Elena sat at her new desk just outside Alexander Frost's office. The phone on her desk blinked with unanswered calls, her inbox overflowed with tasks already assigned to her, and the calendar application made her dizzy with overlapping meetings.
She took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves. If she wanted a fresh start, this was it. No matter how cold the Ice King was, she wasn't going to melt away.
But as the hours dragged on, she couldn't shake the memory of his eyes—the way they seemed to see straight through her, the way they froze her in place. And though she would never admit it, not even to herself, something about that coldness stirred an ember of curiosity in her chest.
Who was Alexander Frost, really?
And why did a man who had everything look as though he felt nothing at all.