The Ice Prince

She didn't knock. She rushed into his study, and the door banged against the wall.

With a tumbler of amber liquor in his hand, Isaac Blackwell sat behind his mahogany desk. Shadows flickered across his chiselled features as the fireplace behind him crackled. As she walked in, his face remained unchanged.

"Why didn’t you defend me?" Her voice trembled with controlled rage.

He watched the whisky move like molten gold as he swirled it. "I told you what this marriage was."

"That's not an answer."

He finally looked her in the eyes and said, "You signed the contract," "You knew the rules."

The breath caught in Evelyn's throat. "Rules?" Her hands gripped at her sides, she walked towards his desk. "I was humiliated in front of the whole city by your sister. And you left."

Isaac's face was unreadable as he took a slow sip of his beverage. "What were you anticipating? "A shining knight?"

"No," she shot out with a raised voice. "But maybe a husband who doesn’t abandon his wife to a pack of vultures."

The chair scraped the wooden floor as he jerked to his feet. With a crisp click, he set the glass on the desk and leaned forward, towering over her. "You care too much about what they think," he replied. He clenched his jaw. "That’s your problem."

Evelyn felt a knot in her chest from frustration. "You care about nothing and no one."

His eyes become stony. "Exactly."

Between them hung the words, harsh and merciless. Despite the thickening of her throat, Evelyn resisted crying. She turned and walked away without saying anything more, shutting the door behind her.

Isaac drained the remainder of his whisky and threw the glass into the fireplace during the ensuing quiet.

With her laptop perched on her knees, Evelyn sat cross-legged on the bed. Her pallid face was painted with ghostly light from the intense glow of the screen. Her gaze swept across the never-ending barrage of news.

"A genius or a gold digger? "Inside Evelyn Drake's Life."

"From Convent to CEO's Wife, How Did She Do It?"

"Isac Blackwell's New Bride: Social Climber or True Love?"

The articles were harsh. The remarks, however, were worse.

"She looks so desperate."

"Gold-digger turned convent girl. classic.

"I give this sham marriage six months."

Her vision became hazy. She clicked on the social media page of Camilla Sterling. A photo from the gala was featured in the most recent post: Evelyn's eyes were wide with horror as she spilt wine over her white gown. "Sorry," the caption said. Some stains are permanent.

The comment area was flooded with hundreds of laughing emojis.

Evelyn pushed the laptop off her lap and slammed it shut. It hit the floor with a dull thud after sliding across the silk blanket. It was scarcely noticeable when the plastic broke with a harsh snap.

She released a sob. Her shoulders were shaking as she pushed her palms to her eyes. The silence in the mansion around her was oppressive. No reassuring voice. No warmth. Just colder people and colder walls.

She breathed shallowly and rocked a little. The room was empty as she whispered, "How long can I keep doing this?"

Footsteps stopped by the door outside. The shadow hovered and then departed.

Evelyn was curled up on the bed, sobbing silently all over her body. She was held down by the weight of constant humiliation, loneliness, and Isaac's callous rejection.

The silence was broken by a gentle knock.

"Evelyn?"

Swiping at her tear-streaked cheeks, she sat up. "Who is it?"

"Marcus."

She stepped up and opened the door hesitantly. Marcus Belmont, wearing trousers and a dark jumper, stood there staring at her swollen eyes and shaking hands.

Gently, "I heard about the gala," he said.

She moved out of the way. With his hands in his pockets, he entered and looked at the smashed laptop on the floor and the untouched dinner tray on the dresser.

Evelyn responded, "You shouldn't be here," in a husky voice.

"I figured you needed someone who isn't out for blood." He took a seat on the bed's edge. Camilla and Vivienne are unstoppable. They'll keep pushing until you crack.

Evelyn's throat grew constricted. "They’re winning."

Marcus responded, "No," and shook his head. "Not yet."

She fell down next to him and wiped her eyes. Isaac is unconcerned. He simply closes down.

Marcus let out a slow breath. "You know he's not cold-hearted. Simply put, damaged.

Evelyn scowled. "That doesn’t excuse his cruelty."

"No," Marcus concurred. "But it might explain it."

She wanted to ask more, but her mind was clouded by fatigue. Marcus got up to go, but paused at the door. "Don’t give up," he informed them. "Not yet."

Evelyn was alone once more as she gazed at the ceiling as Marcus's comments continued to float about in her head.

What or what tragedy made Isaac the ice prince who watched her drown?

With her gaze following the gilded spines arranged across tall shelves, Evelyn Drake stood in the middle. Suffocating and unavoidable, the weight of the day stuck to her like a damp rag.

Grounding herself, she ran her fingertips over the cool wood of the reading table. At least in this case, she wasn't made fun of by silence. The home never provided the warmth that the roaring fireplace gave. She opened a random book and sat, taking deep breaths. Through the mist of fatigue, the words became hazy.

Vivienne Hastings stood still in the shadowed passage behind the half-closed door. Her lips curled into a predatory smirk as her keen blue eyes followed Evelyn's every move.

"So fragile," said Vivienne in a low voice. "She’s weaker than I expected."

She drummed her fingers on her coat's silk lining. The girl was breaking more quickly than she had thought. She would break like fragile glass with a little more strain.

Vivienne turned on her heel after adjusting her pearl necklace. As she left, her plan already in shape, her heels clicked gently against the marble.

Evelyn shivered inside the library despite the intense fire. The air was slightly scented with Vivienne's perfume, a subliminal reminder that privacy was a myth here.

The only sound coming from Evelyn's rigid seat next to Isaac was the soft clink of cutlery. With a contented sparkle in her eyes, Vivienne sipped her wine across from her. Leaning forward, Camilla Sterling's lips curled into a sly smile.

"So, Evelyn," Camilla said in a silky, venomous voice. Tell us about your time in the convent. Did you spend your time praying for a wealthy husband or cleaning floors?

Evelyn's back tensed. Halfway to her mouth, her fork froze.

Laughing into her drink, Vivienne said. "Oh, don't be mean, Camilla. Evelyn must have put a lot of effort into cultivating her defenceless, innocent appearance.

Evelyn felt the heat creep up her neck. The servants on the walls bowed their heads, their mouths quivering with secret laughter.

She gave Isaac a quick look. He avoided looking into her eyes. His jaw muscle tightened slightly, but his eyes stayed on his plate. However, he remained silent.

Evelyn flinched when Camilla's knife scraped on porcelain. According to Camilla, "I mean, really," "That's a great maid-to-mistress transition. Evelyn, how did you do it? You should tear your clothing and pass out in his arms.

Like a faint hiss of steam coming from a broken pipe, laughter echoed around the table. Evelyn felt her chest tighten. Her ears pounded with her heartbeat. The intense rose aroma of Vivienne's perfume made her stomach turn, and the wineglass she was holding shook.

Enough.

Evelyn moved her seat back. On the marble floor, the legs screamed. There was a pause in the laughs.

She said, "Excuse me," in a shaky, thin voice. She got up and started to leave, each step harder than the last. Her legs felt like they would buckle with the weight of their disdain.

She closed the bedroom door upstairs, sank to the floor, and leaned against it. In rough gasps, she breathed. The dam cracked. Muffled gasps escaped her throat and hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

She said, "I can't do this," to the darkness. "Not like this."

Footsteps stopped outside the door. Isaac. The atmosphere changed as though he was standing there contemplating whether or not to knock with his hand up.

The footsteps backed off.

Evelyn put her knees to her forehead. Cold and strange, her wedding ring sank into her flesh.

Before she broke totally, how much more could she take?