The office was different that morning.
Tense. Electric.
Phones rang nonstop, assistants darted down the halls with panicked looks, and whispered conversations flared like sparks ready to ignite. Elena felt it the moment she stepped onto the twenty-seventh floor—the atmosphere thick, charged, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
She hadn't even set her bag down when Mrs. Greene appeared at her desk, her normally composed face drawn tight.
"He'll need you in there," she said, nodding toward Alexander's office. "Now."
Elena's pulse kicked. She grabbed her notepad and hurried inside.
Alexander was standing behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone. His tie hung loose around his neck—something Elena had never seen before. He looked less like the untouchable Ice King and more like a man in the middle of battle.
On the desk, a series of reports were spread open, red numbers glaring like wounds across the pages.
"Sit," he ordered, not looking up.
She obeyed.
"We have a problem," he said, finally lifting his gaze. His eyes were sharper than usual, but darker too, as if the weight of the entire company pressed down on him. "Westbrook is threatening to pull out of the partnership. If they do, it triggers a cascade with our investors."
Elena's stomach tightened. She knew enough from the files to understand the gravity. "What do you need me to do?"
"You'll draft responses to their board immediately. Polished. Professional. No weakness. I'll dictate."
And so it began.
For the next hour, Alexander fired words like bullets, pacing the room while Elena scrambled to keep up. His voice was steady, controlled, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of fury—at the Westbrooks, at the numbers, maybe at himself.
Every so often, he paused, raking a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath in French. Elena had never seen him this way—stripped of his perfect composure, raw edges showing.
She typed furiously, fingers aching, until finally he stopped.
"Read it back," he demanded.
She did, her voice steady despite her racing heart. When she finished, silence hung heavy in the room.
Then he nodded once. "Good. Send it."
She did.
Only then did he sink into his chair, elbows braced on the desk, hands steepled against his mouth. His eyes closed, just for a moment.
It was the first time she'd seen him look… tired. Human.
Elena hesitated. She knew better than to speak without invitation, but something in her couldn't stay silent.
"You've been carrying this company on your shoulders for years," she said softly. "But even you can't control everything."
His eyes snapped open, piercing hers. For a moment, she thought he'd lash out, but instead, he simply stared—longer than usual, as though weighing her words.
Finally, he leaned back, the mask slipping back into place. "Control is the only thing that matters, Miss Carter. Remember that."
But as she left his office, Elena knew what she had seen.
Behind the legend of Alexander Frost—the ruthless, untouchable Ice King—was a man fighting battles no one else could see.
And she wasn't sure which was more dangerous: working for him… or caring about him.