Xavier didn't sleep for the rest of the night. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard that broken sob coming from behind the basement door. He stayed in the shadows of the East Wing until the sun began to bleed through the heavy velvet curtains, turning the room a pale, ghostly gray.
By 8:00 AM, there was a sharp, rhythmic tapping at his door.
"Enter," Xavier said, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep.
Seraphina stepped in. She was perfect again—not a hair out of place, her face a mask of cold, unbothered arrogance. She wore a white suit today, looking every bit like the empress of the Vane Empire. There was no sign of the crying girl he had seen at midnight.
"You look like hell, Xavier," she said, her eyes scanning his face. She walked over to the window and snapped the curtains open, letting in the blinding morning light. "We have a brunch meeting with the city's top investors in two hours. I suggest you use some of the expensive grooming products in your bathroom. I won't have my fiancé looking like a street beggar."
Xavier stood up, his heart pounding. He walked toward her until he was standing just a foot away. He could smell the same sandalwood and rose perfume from the night before—the same scent that had lingered in the air by the basement door.
"I had trouble sleeping," Xavier said, watching her eyes closely. "This house is very loud at night. Especially near the North Corridor. It's almost like the walls have secrets."
Seraphina froze. The hand she was using to adjust her diamond earring stopped mid-air. For a split second, her breathing hitched, and the mask faltered.
"The North Corridor is off-limits to guests," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low hum. "I thought I made that clear in the contract. If you value your family's safety, you will stay in your wing and keep your ears closed."
"I'm not a guest, Seraphina. I'm your fiancé," Xavier countered, stepping even closer. "If we're going to lie to the world, maybe you should stop lying to me. Who is in that basement? Who were you talking to?"
In a flash, Seraphina's hand was at his throat—not to hurt him, but to pin him against the wall. Her strength was surprising, her face inches from his.
"You are a signature on a piece of paper, Xavier," she hissed, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and cold terror. "You are here to be a shield, not a detective. If you ever mention that hallway again, I will personally ensure you disappear before the wedding bells ring. Do you understand?"
Xavier looked down at her. Up close, he could see the faint puffiness around her eyes that even her expensive makeup couldn't fully hide. She was terrified.
"I understand," he whispered.
She let go of him, smoothing her white jacket as if nothing had happened. "Good. Get dressed. The car leaves in twenty minutes. Try to look happy. It's what people expect from a man who just won the lottery."
She walked out without looking back, but Xavier noticed her hand was trembling as she reached for the door handle. He had touched a nerve. The Ice Queen wasn't just cold—she was protecting a fire that was slowly burning her alive.