The morning light fought its way through the storm clouds, pale and thin, spilling down the glass spine of Ather Tower. Inside, the hum of business had returned, steadier than the chaos of yesterday, though every corridor still carried a faint echo of tension — like the building itself remembered.
The elevator opened on the executive floor. Heels struck marble, crisp, commanding.
Lunox stepped out, wrapped in a cream-colored pantsuit tailored razor-sharp, the lavender silk blouse beneath softer but no less precise. Her hair was bound into a tight bun, sleek and immaculate. The heels were pale, their echo cutting through the hallway like glass breaking rhythm.
Staff parted instinctively, as if an invisible current pushed them aside. Conversations clipped mid-word. Phones pressed harder against ears. Eyes dropped.
She moved with unbroken stride toward her office.
Aurelia Boa stood waiting just inside the glass doors, tablet in hand. Her black pencil skirt and ivory blouse were as neat as her posture, her medium chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that betrayed none of the nerves beneath. She had been here long enough to know the storm her boss carried in her presence.
"Morning, Ms. Ather," Aurelia said softly. Her voice was smooth, professional — but her eyes flicked down, betraying the weight of what she carried on the tablet.
Lunox didn't stop until she was behind her desk. She set her briefcase down with a muted thud, slid her blazer from her shoulders, and draped it across the chair. Only then did she lift her gaze to Aurelia.
"Well?"
Aurelia hesitated. Then she turned the tablet, screen glowing.
The headline blared like a slap.
SUNSHINE REBEL & FRESH BLOOD SPOTTED: DRINKS & LAUGHTER AFTER CRISIS
Exclusive: Freya Ather seen with mysterious board candidate in rooftop lounge. Strategic alliance or sparks of romance?
The photo beneath was crisp — too crisp. Freya leaning forward, golden hair spilling loose, wine glass poised in her hand, laughter caught mid-spark. Across from her, Orion sat calm, silver eyes reflecting city lights, whiskey glass steady in his grip.
They looked like a headline. They looked like a story begging to be written.
Lunox's face didn't move. Not a flicker. But the pen she had picked up snapped, a hairline crack running down its length beneath her fingers.
"Foolish," she said quietly, the word cutting cold in the still office.
Aurelia kept her voice measured. "It's spreading fast. Half the staff has seen it. A few investors, too."
"Investors?" Lunox's eyes lifted, obsidian sharp.
"Speculating it could mean an… alignment," Aurelia replied carefully. "Some see it as reckless. Others—" she hesitated, then forced the word out, "—as a clever play."
Lunox's nails pressed crescents into her palm. Alignment. Play. Gossip dressed as strategy.
Inside, her chest tightened, not with fear but with something sharper, hotter. She told herself it was anger. She told herself it was about control.
Reckless. Both of them. Playing games in public when empires burn in private.
But the photo burned in her mind. Freya's laughter, Orion's steady gaze. Sun and storm, together, while she — she had been here, holding the empire on her own.
Her lips pressed thin.
"Delete it from the investor feeds," she ordered, voice flat. "Redirect eyes to yesterday's recovery. That's the only headline that matters."
Aurelia nodded, fingers moving fast across the tablet.
Lunox lowered her gaze again, staring at the photo one last time. She told herself it meant nothing. She told herself she didn't care.
But when she blinked, her pulse betrayed her.
Why does it burn?
The twenty-second floor was usually a hum of efficiency — interns scurrying with files, junior analysts bent over glowing screens, voices clipped and purposeful. But this morning, the hum had a different pitch.
Whispers.
Clusters of staff leaned too close together, voices lowered yet sharp with excitement. Screens weren't filled with spreadsheets alone — tucked into corners were open tabs of gossip blogs, photos still glowing with last night's neon.
"Did you see it?" one whispered, eyes wide. "Ms. Freya. With him."
"The new candidate?" another hissed back. "The one who silenced the board yesterday?"
"Yes! At Skyline Lounge. Look—" A phone tilted, screen flashing the photo: Freya laughing, hair spilling golden around her shoulders, Orion opposite her, calm, whiskey glass steady.
"They look like—" the whisper trailed into a grin, "—like a couple."
A gasp. "Don't say that! She's the Sunshine Rebel, he's… nobody. Yet."
"Not nobody," someone else cut in. "Didn't you see the headlines? He saved the company's face yesterday. My uncle nearly sold his shares — now he's buying more."
"But Ms. Lunox—" another whispered nervously. "What happens when she sees this?"
The group fell silent for a breath, imagining the Ice Queen's face. Then nervous laughter spilled, too soft, too quick.
And then heels struck marble.
The sound cracked the hallway like a whip.
Every whisper died. Phones flipped facedown on desks. Screens clicked back to spreadsheets, though fingers hovered frozen above keyboards.
Lunox Ather moved through the corridor, cream pantsuit cutting sharp lines against the grey walls, lavender silk blouse softening nothing of her presence. Her bun was perfect, her stride unbroken, her gaze obsidian.
Each click of her pale heels echoed, louder than the rain outside.
She passed the first cluster of staff. Their eyes dropped instantly, conversations silenced mid-breath. One clutched a pen so hard it snapped. Another mouthed "don't look up."
She passed another. Their backs straightened as if pulled by strings. Laughter from seconds ago shrank into terrified silence.
The Ice Queen did not break stride.
But inside, every whisper still clung to her skin. Every flicker of a screen felt like a burn against her eyes. And the photo — Freya's golden laughter, Orion's storm-lit gaze — replayed itself behind her composure.
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, she pressed them thin, sharpened into a blade.
Let them talk. Let them feed on scraps. Empires don't bend to gossip.
Yet her pulse ticked faster, betraying her.
At the end of the hall, Aurelia walked in silence two steps behind, tablet pressed to her chest. She didn't need to ask if Lunox had heard the whispers. She could see it in the faint tremor of Lunox's hand, the way her knuckles whitened as she gripped the folder she carried.
The staff exhaled only when the elevator doors closed behind the Ice Queen.
And the whispers began again, softer this time — but louder in her chest than thunder.
The office was carved from glass and silence.
Rain had softened outside, dripping down the tall windows like slow beads of mercury. The city below moved in streaks of silver and neon, blurred through the morning haze. Inside, the only sound was the faint hum of the air vent and the measured click of Aurelia's heels as she crossed to the desk.
Lunox sat rigid in her chair, cream pantsuit immaculate, lavender blouse uncreased despite the hours already behind her. The blazer hung neatly across the chair back, a deliberate choice. No cracks. No fatigue.
On the desk, two pens lay beside her notes — one whole, one fractured, the clean break in its barrel a silent confession.
Aurelia set her tablet on the desk, screen glowing with the day's agenda. Her voice was steady, careful, each word smoothed before leaving her lips. "This morning's meetings: supplier follow-up at ten, investor call at noon, legal counsel this afternoon regarding the acquisition. I've filtered all press requests out of your calendar."
Lunox nodded once, eyes fixed on the papers before her.
Aurelia hesitated, fingers brushing against the edge of her tablet. Then she added, more quietly, "The gossip piece is still climbing. Staff chatter hasn't slowed. If it's distracting—"
"It's irrelevant."
The words landed sharp, colder than the storm outside.
Aurelia's throat worked as she swallowed. Her dark eyes studied her boss's face, searching for cracks. None showed. But her hands — pale, slender — were too still on the table. Fingers that always danced over notes now clenched against the paper.
"Ms. Ather…" Aurelia began carefully, "if the rumors are affecting morale, perhaps an official response could—"
"No."
This time, Lunox's voice cut harder, enough to still the air. She lifted her gaze at last, obsidian eyes locking onto Aurelia's. The steel there would have frozen anyone else in place. "We do not respond to gossip. It does not matter. It does not touch us."
The silence stretched.
But Aurelia saw it — the faint tension in her jaw, the way her breath had quickened by a fraction. She had stood at Lunox's side long enough to read what others could not.
"Yes, Ms. Ather," Aurelia said softly, lowering her eyes.
Lunox's gaze lingered on her for a beat longer, then dropped back to the papers on her desk. Her pen hovered, but she didn't write.
Irrelevant, she told herself. Foolish, reckless noise.Freya playing games. He… Her jaw tightened. He's just another variable. That's all.
But the photo still seared against the inside of her mind. Freya laughing, Orion steady. Sun and storm without her.
Her fingers tightened again, and the fractured pen rolled, the crack in its barrel catching the light like a scar.
The executive washroom was silent, too polished to breathe. Marble sinks gleamed, the mirrors stretched from wall to wall, and the faint scent of lavender soap lingered in the air. No one else was there — no assistants, no staff — just the Ice Queen and her reflection.
Lunox turned the lock behind her. The sound clicked sharp in the quiet.
She shrugged out of her blazer, draping it neatly over the counter. Her sleeves slid up, ivory silk brushing pale skin, exposing slender forearms. The heels came off next, set with care against the wall. Barefoot, she felt the chill of marble under her toes, grounding her, though her chest still burned.
Her gaze rose to the mirror.
The woman who stared back was flawless: cream pantsuit fitted like armor, bun sleek and uncompromising, face carved in the same precision that silenced boardrooms. The Ice Queen. Untouchable.
And yet her eyes betrayed her.
For all their obsidian sharpness, they trembled with something else — a flicker of heat where there should have been only frost.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink. "Why should it matter?" she whispered, the words aimed at the woman in the glass. "He's reckless. Arrogant. My sister can have him. Let her play her games."
The mirror didn't answer. It only reflected the lie.
Her jaw tightened. "He's nothing. Just fresh blood. Temporary."
But her pulse thundered against her skin, mocking her. She saw the photo again — Freya laughing, golden hair glowing, Orion's calm silver gaze steady across the table. The storm and the sun, together, while she was here. Alone.
Her nails bit into the marble.
"Then why…" Her voice cracked softer, almost lost to the silence. "…why does it burn?"
The woman in the mirror tilted her head, as though asking the same.
Lunox tore her eyes away, turning to the wall, trying to steady her breath. She splashed cold water across her face, the droplets sliding down to dampen her blouse collar. For a second, she pressed her palms flat against the counter, head bowed, shoulders shaking once before she forced them still.
When she looked up again, the Ice Queen had returned. Her bun perfect, her blouse immaculate, her face unreadable.
But deep in her eyes, the crack lingered.
By the time dusk fell, the sky over Ather Tower burned with the last light of the storm. Clouds broke apart into streaks of violet and ash, the city below glittering with early evening lights. Towers stabbed the horizon like obsidian blades, and traffic flowed in red and white rivers through the streets.
Lunox stood alone by the glass wall of her office, her silhouette etched against the skyline. Her blazer had been left on the chair hours ago, lavender blouse sleeves rolled high on her arms. She hadn't turned on the lights. The only glow came from the dying sun and the endless pulse of the city beneath her.
In her hand, her phone buzzed once. A notification blinked across the screen.
"EXCLUSIVE: Sunshine Rebel & Fresh Blood — A Night Together?"
A new photo. Not the first from the rooftop lounge — another angle. Freya leaning forward, wine glass raised, Orion's silver gaze fixed steady across the table. The caption below burned: "Is this the alliance that will change Ather's empire?"
Lunox's thumb hovered, but she didn't open it. She didn't need to. The image seared itself into her chest all the same.
Her reflection in the glass stared back: perfect bun still intact, cream suit impeccable, but her eyes… her eyes betrayed her again.
He's just a tool, she told herself. A pawn. Temporary.
Her fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles whitened.
Then why does it feel like I'm losing him… before he's mine?
The thought struck deeper than she allowed herself to admit. She wanted to crush it, bury it under layers of frost. But the words lingered, curling like smoke she couldn't dispel.
Behind her, the office was silent, shadows lengthening over the desk piled with reports. Aurelia had left hours ago. Freya was out there, somewhere in the city, her laughter spilling into someone else's night. And Orion—
Her breath caught. She didn't even know where he was. And that unsettled her more than any headline.
The storm outside had passed, but in her chest another raged, fierce and unrelenting.
She lifted her chin, eyes fixed on the city's pulse. Her reflection stood tall, untouchable. Ice Queen of Ather. Yet the tremor inside her was louder than the traffic below, sharper than the neon lights stabbing the horizon.
"Temporary," she whispered into the glass. But the word rang hollow.
The phone buzzed again in her palm. Another headline, another wildfire of gossip.
This time, she didn't look. She pressed the screen dark, laid it on the desk, and turned her back to the city.
But the feeling clung to her — the quiet, traitorous ache of loss for something she had never claimed.