The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds, dust motes dancing in the cold air of the office tower. Aria Acherley had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in her mind, each version ending with him smiling—finally noticing her devotion, finally acknowledging her love. But as she climbed into the elevator, the knot in her stomach refused to loosen. She was about to step into Henry Lannister's world, uninvited, unannounced—a world she had desperately longed to belong to, and yet, one that had always rejected her.
She straightened her posture, smoothing her gown and brushing her hair back from her face. For once, she wanted to be seen not just as Henry's wife, not just as the ice princess of society's gossip pages, but as herself. Not a bargaining chip, not a shadow standing behind ambition and wealth.
The elevator doors opened, and the lobby's marble expanse gleamed beneath the winter sun. Aria walked across the polished floors, heels clicking like a metronome counting down to a moment she could not avoid.
"Henry?" she called softly.
From behind the desk, a tall, lean man looked up. His face was unreadable, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly.
"Aria," he said, a flat tone that carried neither surprise nor warmth. "This is unexpected."
"I… I thought I'd… surprise you," she said, her voice almost trembling with hope. "I wanted to see you."
"You know I do not like unannounced visits," he said, standing and smoothing the front of his tailored suit. "Especially not ones that disrupt my work."
Before Aria could respond, another figure stepped from the shadows—a man slightly shorter, older, with a calm demeanor and eyes that seemed to study everything without judgment.
"Henry," he said, a gentle nod. "I'm Fin. I work with him closely."
Aria's breath caught. She had heard the name mentioned in passing, whispered by the few people who managed to survive the storm of Henry Lannister's empire. Now, standing before her, Fin radiated a quiet authority, the kind that made people listen before they spoke.
"It's nice to meet you," Aria said, offering a small, polite smile.
Fin inclined his head. "Likewise, Mrs. Lannister," he said, the slight emphasis on 'Mrs.' making her stomach twist in anxiety.
Henry's gaze hardened. "Aria, I thought I made it clear that I expect boundaries. This… this is not appropriate," he said, his voice a low rumble.
"I just wanted to—" Aria began, but the words caught in her throat. She had rehearsed this scene endlessly, but reality had a way of stripping courage from even the most determined hearts.
"Stop," Henry snapped, his voice echoing through the office. "Enough."
Aria's chest tightened, and her hands clutched at the sides of her dress. "Henry… I only wanted to… to—"
"Do not do this!" he yelled suddenly, the sound reverberating across the polished walls. His voice, sharp and commanding, drew the attention of nearby staff who peeked cautiously from behind their doors. Aria froze. Was he trying to announce it to everyone?
The office seemed to constrict around her, the air thick with tension. She realized too late that she had crossed a line. Henry's anger was palpable, a force that seemed to push her backward.
"I cannot have this obsession! You are not to hover over me, not to chase after moments that do not belong to you! Do you understand?"
Aria's lips trembled, tears threatening to spill. "I—" she whispered.
The employees in the hallway murmured amongst themselves, their voices hushed but full of speculation. Names were exchanged, rumors forming in whispers:
"Is that… Mrs. Lannister?" one asked.
"She's… very eager," another replied, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Too eager."
"And Henry… he looks like he's about to explode," said a third, shaking his head. "I'd hate to be her right now."
Aria turned her head and caught sight of a photograph on Henry's desk. The golden light reflected across the polished frame, and there she saw her—Clara.
The woman who had been Henry's lover for two years, before the union with Aria had been forced upon them. She heard about rumors. And she remember her from high school days. Clara, radiant and confident, the kind of woman who moved through life effortlessly. The kind of woman Henry had loved. And it seems he still loves her.
"Clara…" Aria whispered under her breath. The name tasted bitter on her tongue. Her heart sank.
Henry, seeing her glance, did not intervene. Perhaps he thought nothing needed saying, or perhaps he assumed the photograph was enough to remind her of her place.
Aria's world tilted. For a year she had tried to mold herself, to persevere, to win him with patience and quiet devotion. And now, confronted with the ghost of his past, she understood the futility of her efforts. Love could not be conjured from thin air. Not in this office, not with him.
With a trembling hand, she turned on her heel and left. The employees whispered in her wake, their voices filled with a mixture of curiosity, gossip, and silent judgment. The elevator ride felt like a descent into a deeper chasm, each floor another layer of disappointment.
That evening, she returned to her family's mansion. The walls seemed to close in on her as she entered, her footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Her parents were seated at the dining table, as cold and pristine as ever, their expressions betraying neither warmth nor concern.
"Mother… Father… I need to speak," Aria began, her voice quivering.
Her mother's eyes flicked to her briefly. "This had better not be another one of your complaints," she said, her tone dismissive.
"It's about Henry," Aria said. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I… I cannot… I cannot make him love me. He… he still thinks of Clara. He—he's never—"
Her father slammed his hand on the table, the sound cracking through the room. "Enough! Your duty is clear. You will remain his wife, regardless of what you feel. Do you understand? Do you want to undo everything we have built?"
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Do you even understand what we raised you for? You were to secure a union with wealth and power, and now—after all our guidance—you cannot even manage that?"
Aria's vision blurred, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free. Her sobs echoed through the dining hall.
"You are pathetic," her father spat. "Weak. Unworthy of the life we have arranged for you. If you cannot obey, if you cannot endure, then leave. Leave this house. Leave us. Do not disgrace us further."
The words struck her like stones, and she fled to her room. That night, Henry did not come. The mansion was silent, oppressive, each corner filled with the echo of her despair.
She cried until dawn, the icy winter air seeping through the windows, chilling her to the bone.
Since that day, Henry never came home.
Her grief was endless, her loneliness complete. Two years of trying, of hoping, of loving, had led her to this—emptiness.
And on that bleak winter morning, as frost clung to the edges of the window panes, Aria Acherley made a choice.
She would no longer attempt to win a heart that had already chosen another. She would no longer endure the cruelty of silence and disdain. The mansion, the wealth, the promises of status—all of it seemed meaningless.
In the quiet, cold hours before dawn, she began to gather herself. She needed one last connection to the world that had once brought her joy, before she let go entirely. The rink. The ice. Her sanctuary.
Her skates waited in the corner, polished and gleaming. She touched them gently, the leather cool beneath her fingers, and allowed herself a single, trembling thought.
Perhaps this time, there would be no audience. No contracts, no obligations, no walls. Just her. And the ice.
---
The snow fell softly outside, dusting the world in white silence. The wind whispered against the mansion's stone walls, carrying with it the weight of years of disappointment, of longing, of dreams deferred.
Aria drew a deep, shuddering breath. The finality of her decision pressed upon her, heavier than any gown, any jewel, any expectation ever had. The world outside the door seemed endless, yet she felt its icy embrace in her chest.
Two years. Two years of a loveless marriage, of striving for affection that would never come. Two years of hope, of patience, of heartbreak.
And now, she would step into the cold one last time, seeking freedom where she had always found solace.
Her heart beat furiously, a mix of fear and relief. The winter morning waited. The ice waited. And Aria, at last, was ready.