Chapter 2 The Ice King

The next morning, Emilia sat alone at her desk, staring at the file she had built overnight on Maddox King. A collage of clipped headlines, corporate profiles, and blurry tabloid photos stared back at her like an unsolvable riddle.

He had the public presence of a myth-powerful, silent, and oddly untouched. No interviews. No charity appearances. No smiling-with-a-dog-for-press moments. Just one photo from three years ago: Maddox in a tuxedo, a blonde woman at his side. His late fiancée.

The caption read: "King & Carrington: Empire Meets Heiress."

And after that, nothing.

No official breakup. No engagement announcement. No funeral coverage. Just silence. And now-this.

She closed the folder and grabbed her coat. Her phone buzzed.

Maddox King

Location sent: KingTech HQ – Level 52

Message: 10 a.m.

"Don't be late."

Arrogant ass.

But she was already halfway out the door.

The penthouse office was colder today, or maybe she was just more aware of it. No flowers, no art, no softness. Just city skyline and silence.

This time, Maddox didn't greet her. He stood at a long digital interface, scrolling through projections and revenue forecasts like the headlines about him weren't trying to break his career.

"I see the press release is circulating," he said without turning around.

"You approved it," Emilia said, stepping into the room. "Although I still think we should've added a quote from you."

"I don't do quotes."

"Then maybe try blinking twice so I know you're human."

That earned her a side glance. Maddox studied her with the same intensity he applied to stock performance graphs.

"You're bold."

"I'm not here to flatter you. I'm here to stop the bleeding."

He turned fully, arms crossing over his chest. "Then tell me your real plan. The one you didn't say yesterday."

Emilia took a breath. "To fix this, we have to reintroduce you to the public as something more than the story they've written for you. Right now, you're the 'cold, violent billionaire.' I want to make you visible. Complex. Maybe even-God forbid-human."

Maddox's brow lifted, amused. "And how do you plan to do that? Interview me in front of a rescue puppy?"

"No," she said evenly. "You're not a politician or a movie star. You're a brand. And right now, your brand is toxic. I want to build a counter-narrative that doesn't rely on apologies you won't give."

He folded his arms. "Keep going."

"A strategic appearance at a high-profile charity gala this week. Public but controlled. You'll show up, speak to the right people, smile at the cameras-"

"I don't smile," he said flatly.

She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "-and I'll be by your side, handling press and running interference. Just enough to start reshaping the story."

"And what exactly would you be to me at this event?" he asked. "A publicist? A babysitter?"

She paused.

"I was thinking... a date."

Maddox stared at her.

"Fake, of course," she added. "A relationship angle gives the public something to latch onto. They'll want to know who I am, what we are. It softens you. Creates buzz. And buys us time."

"I don't do fake relationships," he said coolly.

She stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated. "You punched someone in public and won't tell anyone why. You don't do interviews, apologies, or eye contact for longer than three seconds. Your options are limited."

"I don't like being manipulated," he said.

"Good," she replied. "Neither do I. That's why I'm telling you the truth."

Another pause. He was either going to say no and toss her out-or say yes and destroy her timeline.

Finally, he turned back to his screen. "Fine."

Emilia blinked. "Fine?"

"You'll be my date."

She waited for the catch.

"But only on one condition," Maddox said. "This arrangement is business. You don't ask about my past. You don't go digging for stories I haven't told."

Emilia gave a slow nod. "And in return?"

"I'll give you what you need," he said. "Just enough to fix the narrative. But not a word more."

She met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "Deal."

For a moment, the room felt heavier. Charged.

Something unsaid passed between them-something sharp and dangerous and entirely off the record.

Emilia straightened. "I'll forward you the event details and pull a list of key reporters. You'll need a suit that doesn't scream 'vengeful reclusive billionaire.' Maybe even something softer."

"Like what?"

"Charcoal," she said. "And a pocket square. Women like a man who knows how to accessorize."

He gave her the faintest of smirks. It was the closest thing to a real smile she'd seen on him yet.

As she turned to leave, he said her name.

"Emilia."

She glanced over her shoulder.

"This better work."

"It will," she said.

But even as she walked out of his fortress and into the bitter New York cold, Emilia couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into something far more dangerous than a press scandal.

She was stepping into the life of a man with too many secrets and nothing left to lose.

And she had just agreed to pretend to love him.