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My heart pangs, but I shut down the feeling as soon as it appears.
The only thing that’s kept me sane for the past seven years has been my strength. My frigid demeanor. My ability to lock up all my feelings into a tiny metal chest and bury it at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.
Even if I pretend to hate the title, I am the Ice Queen, who rules over a land of snow and wind. The Queen who listens to the howling of the storm outside and lets a smile tug at the corners of her lips.
Cold loneliness is my home, and I can’t wait to go back.
2
Asher
“Donovan is already here.” My assistant, Nico, looks up from the seat beside me. “Just got word.”
I grunt in approval as our limousine enters the Westhill Palace gates. There are flower baskets hanging off every lamp post with flags flapping in the wind to celebrate Prince Gabriel’s wedding.
I’m not here to celebrate, though. I’m here for business.
I adjust the collar of my shirt. “We need to find out what he’s planning. He’s been too smug lately, and I have a feeling he’ll drop out of this acquisition before we can finalize it.”
“He doesn’t want to merge with us,” Nico says.
“I know.” I stare out the window, buzzing with the familiar thrill of the hunt. It seeps into my blood, making every muscle tighten inside me. My eyes narrow as we drive up to the castle and I know this is where I’m meant to be. I’ll bring Donovan to his knees whether he wants it or not.
Some men chase sex. Some men appease their inner beast by finding unsuspecting women to pursue, fuck, and leave behind.
Not me.
Women are easy targets. Even with scars covering a third of my body, with burn marks crawling up my neck onto my jaw. Even with danger in my eyes, women still fall down at my feet and offer their warm orifices to me. Yawn.
No, sex doesn’t thrill me.
Companies are what I hunt. Businesses with an arrow in their flank that leave a trail of blood dripping behind them in the forest. I sniff them out and deliver the final blow, carrying them back on my shoulders with a triumphant grin on my face.
My father may have hated what the fire did to my body and face when I was twelve years old. He may think I’m a grotesque beast, an ugly son, a disfigured monster—but he can’t deny that I’ve been the person who’s caused his business to expand beyond his wildest dreams. I am the hunter. I’ve acquired more businesses for our corporation than any other person in its history.
I made my father a billionaire—but his lips still drip with disgust when he looks at my scars.
No matter.
Reginald Donovan is my next target, and any bitterness within me will pour out into this merger. It doesn’t matter what Donovan is planning, because I’ll find out. I’ll ruin his plans, acquire his company, and destroy his dreams.
It’s what I do.
The car pulls up to the front of the palace. My blood runs hot at the thought of meeting Donovan in there. Sniffing out his weaknesses. Crushing any hope he has of wriggling out of this deal. I’ll wipe that smug smirk off his ugly face.
A staff member in a crisp black uniform opens the door and leads me up the steps and through the palace entrance. On the other side, a kind, old woman looks at me, her eyes brightening. “Mr. Gerhard!” She gives me a low curtsy, and two other staff members stiffen, spinning their heads to stare at me.
My reputation precedes me—but then again, it always does. I wonder if they’ve heard of me as a ruthless businessman, or as the man with scars marring a third of his body?
The old lady straightens, and a vague memory filters through my hazy mind. I remember her from summers at Westhill Palace—Mrs. Grey, maybe? Her face radiates joy and warmth as she gestures for me to enter. “Welcome.”
I nod in thanks, wrestling my lips into a thin smile.
Mrs. Grey sweeps her hand down the wide hallway, indicating I should follow her. There’s a buzz in the air as everyone readies for the wedding. Staff scurry from one door to the other. A few of them flash furtive glances my way, then tuck their chins into their chests and duck into the nearest door.
I see eyes drop to my jaw and my neck, where the scarred skin from my accident pokes out from above my shirt. I should be used to it by now—it’s been twenty years. I’ve had to endure the stares since I was twelve years old.
Still, I throw my shoulders back and mash my lips together. This is why I’ve become the ruthless businessman I am—because anything less than brute strength opens me up to their pity. I’d rather be hated than pitied. It’s only skin, charred and melted and ugly. Let them stare.
