The massive oak doors of the ballroom felt like the gates of a judgment hall as Liam and Ava stepped through. The music was a soft hum in the background, but the air felt heavy. Liam didn't loosen his grip on her arm; instead, he pulled her slightly closer, his warmth the only shield against the cold stares of New York's elite.
At the far end of the hall, seated on a high-backed velvet chair that looked remarkably like a throne, was Beatrice Moretti. Her silver hair was styled to perfection, and her gaze was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Don't let her see you blink," Liam murmured, his voice so low only Ava could hear it.
As they approached, Beatrice didn't smile. She waited until they were standing directly in front of her before she spoke. "Liam. You finally decided to join the living. And you've brought... a guest."
"This is Ava, Grandmother," Liam's voice was firm, lacking any of the coldness he showed others. "My fiancée."
Beatrice's eyes traveled over Ava like a laser. She looked at the fit of the black silk, the way the diamonds caught the light, and finally, she settled on Ava's eyes. "A fiancée from Zurich, I'm told. Strange. I have many friends in Zurich, yet none have mentioned a Miss Brooks."
Ava felt her heart hammer against her ribs. This was the moment. She remembered Liam's words in the garden: She looks for the soul.
"Perhaps that is because my family preferred the quiet of the mountains to the noise of the city, Madame Moretti," Ava said, her voice surprisingly steady. She leaned slightly into Liam, as if seeking his strength. "Liam was the first person to make me want to leave that silence behind."
Beatrice arched an eyebrow. A small, dangerous smile played on her lips. "Is that so? Liam has always been very good at breaking silences. Usually by force."
Liam stepped forward, his body partially shielding Ava. "We didn't come for an interrogation, Grandmother. We came to celebrate."
"One does not celebrate a Moretti marriage without a trial, Liam," Beatrice snapped, then turned back to Ava. "Tell me, child... what do you see when you look at my grandson? Do you see the billionaire? Or do you see the ice?"
The room went silent. Ava felt Liam's muscles stiffen under her hand. This was a trap. If she said billionaire, she was a gold-digger. If she said ice, she didn't know him.
Ava looked up at Liam. In the soft light of the ballroom, his eyes weren't icy. They were searching, almost vulnerable for a fleeting second. She thought of the way he caught her in the library, the way he guided her in the garden.
"I see a man who builds walls to protect what he cares about," Ava said, her voice soft but clear. "And I see the fire he tries so hard to hide beneath all that ice."
For a long minute, Beatrice said nothing. Then, she let out a dry, short laugh. "Well. At least you aren't a bore." She waved a hand dismissively. "Go. Dance. But remember, Miss Brooks... silk can hide a lot, but it can't hide a lie forever."
As they walked away, Ava felt like she could finally breathe. Liam led her to a secluded corner, his hand sliding down to interlace his fingers with hers. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental.
"You did well," he whispered, his thumb grazing her knuckles. "Better than I expected."
"I wasn't lying, Liam," Ava said, looking at him. "About the fire."
Liam's gaze darkened. He pulled her deeper into the shadows of a velvet curtain. "You're playing a dangerous game, Ava. Don't start believing the script."
"Maybe the script is changing," she replied.
Before he could answer, the music slowed to a sensual, heavy beat. Liam didn't lead her to the floor this time. He kept her there, in the dark, his presence closing in on her. The gala was still going on around them, but in that small corner, the world was just the two of them, a fake engagement, and a very real, growing heat.
The heavy velvet of the curtain muffled the clinking of crystal and the forced laughter of the elite. In this narrow space, the air was different—thicker, warmer, and saturated with the scent of Liam's cologne and the faint, sweet aroma of the garden still clinging to Ava's skin. Liam's hand, which had been resting on her waist, slid up slowly, his palm burning through the thin silk of her gown until his thumb rested just below her ribs.
"The script doesn't change, Ava," he rasped, his voice dropping to a register that felt like a physical caress. "In my world, the script is the only thing that keeps you alive. If you start feeling, you start failing."
"Is that what happened to you, Liam?" Ava asked, her voice a mere breath. She didn't shrink away; instead, she stepped closer, her chest almost touching his. "Did you follow a script until you forgot how to feel anything but the cold?"
Liam's jaw tightened. In the sliver of light that managed to peek through the curtains, his eyes looked like molten silver. He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. It was a gesture so intimate, so un-Moretti-like, that it made Ava's heart shatter and restart in the same second.
"I feel enough to know that having you this close is a mistake," he whispered. His other hand came up, his long fingers tangling in the loose curls at the nape of her neck, pulling her head back just enough so he could look into her soul. "You were supposed to be a tool. A beautiful, silent shield. But you're becoming a distraction I can't afford."
The music outside shifted again—a cello solo, deep and mournful. It felt like the soundtrack to a tragedy. Liam's gaze dropped to her lips, and for a long, agonizing minute, the world stood still. The distance between them was a ghost, a thin line of resistance that was rapidly melting. Ava could feel the heat of his breath, the frantic rhythm of his heart, and the sheer power of the restraint he was using not to bridge the final inch.
"Then let me be a distraction," Ava challenged softly, her hand rising to rest over his heart. She could feel it—the fire she had told Beatrice about. It wasn't just a metaphor; it was a living, breathing force beneath his expensive tuxedo. "Just for tonight. Let the Ice King melt, just for one dance in the dark."
Liam let out a ragged breath, his eyes closing for a brief moment as if he were fighting an internal war. When he opened them, the ice was gone, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger that made Ava's blood sing. He didn't kiss her—not yet—but he leaned in until his lips were a mere heartbeat away from hers, a silent promise of the chaos that was to come.