The Cracks in the Ice
The moonlight spilled across the polished marble floor of Liu's chamber, casting silver shadows that danced with the breeze. The room was impossibly large—larger than her entire wing back home. The bed alone could have fit her whole family, yet she lay curled on one side, knees tucked to her chest, her damp hair fanned across the silk pillow.
She wore a pale lavender pajama set, soft as clouds, the sleeves too long for her slender arms. Her skin, still warm from the bath, glowed faintly in the dim light. She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts tangled.
> "They made me ride in a carriage like livestock," she thought bitterly. "While sleek black cars lined the courtyard like silent wolves. They wanted me to feel small. Disposable."
But she hadn't cried. Not once. Not when her sister laughed. Not when her father looked relieved. Not even when the gates of the Lingin estate closed behind her like a tomb.
> "I'll show them," she whispered to the ceiling. "I'll make them regret ever thinking I was the lesser daughter."
A soft knock broke the silence.
Before she could answer, the door creaked open.
A maid in a dark uniform stepped in, her eyes lowered. Behind her, the wheels of a chair whispered against the floor. Xia Uhi entered, his presence as commanding as ever despite the quiet hum of his movement.
> Maid (bowing): "Forgive the intrusion, Lady Liu. Lord Xia requested a private audience."
> Xia (coolly): "You may leave us, Hana."
The maid bowed again and vanished, the door clicking shut behind her.
---
The Banter Begins
Liu sat up, pulling the blanket higher over her chest. Her cheeks flushed, not from modesty, but from the sheer audacity of his entrance.
Xia's eyes flicked over her—calm, unreadable, but sharp. He wore a black silk robe, embroidered with silver cranes. His hair was tied back, revealing the elegant lines of his face. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and the faintest sheen of sweat clung to his brow. The brace across his chest peeked from beneath his robe, a silent reminder of his condition.
> Xia (dryly): "So this is what they send me. The spare. The one they didn't even bother to dress properly."
> Liu (chin lifting): "And yet here you are, barging into my room like a crippled fool with a death wish."
His brows arched, amused. He rolled closer, the wheels of his chair gliding over the floor like a whisper.
> Xia: "Crippled fool? That's a new one. You're bolder than I expected."
> Liu: "And you're ruder than I imagined. I suppose money doesn't buy manners."
> Xia (smirking): "No, but it buys everything else. Including you."
Her breath caught. She hated how her heart skipped at his words—not from fear, but from the way he said them. Calm. Certain. Like he already owned her.
> Liu (voice tight): "I'm not a thing to be bought."
> Xia: "Aren't you? Your father seemed to think otherwise."
She looked away, her jaw clenched. Xia watched her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her cheek, the way her fists balled beneath the blanket.
> Xia (softly): "You're trembling."
> Liu (snapping): "I'm not afraid of you."
> Xia (leaning in): "You should be."
His voice was low, almost a whisper. But there was no threat in it—only curiosity. He was testing her, like a cat with a cornered mouse. But Liu wasn't a mouse. She was a storm waiting to break.
> Liu (meeting his gaze): "And you should be afraid of me."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Xia chuckled—a low, rich sound that made her stomach twist.
> Xia: "I think I'm going to enjoy this marriage more than I thought."
---
A Kiss Like a Question
He turned his chair, wheeling toward the door. But just before he reached it, he paused. Then, slowly, he rolled back to her bedside.
Liu's breath hitched.
He leaned in, his face inches from hers. She could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and something darker—medicine, perhaps. His eyes searched hers, not cruel now, but curious. Almost… gentle.
> Xia (softly): "Goodnight, Lady Liu."
Before she could react, he brushed his lips against her cheek—barely a kiss, more like a whisper of warmth.
Her eyes widened. Her skin burned where he'd touched her. She didn't move. Couldn't.
> Xia (smiling): "You blush like a girl who's never been kissed."
> Liu (stammering): "I—I don't—shut up."
> Xia: "Adorable."
And with that, he turned and rolled away, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Liu sat frozen, her fingers brushing her cheek. Her heart thudded like a war drum.
> "What just happened?"
Liu lay awake long after the door had closed behind Xia. The moon had shifted across the sky, casting shifting shadows across her ceiling, but her thoughts refused to settle.
> "That arrogant, smug, crippled fool…"
And yet, her heart had betrayed her. It had raced when he leaned in. It had fluttered when his lips brushed her cheek. It had ached when he left.
She rolled over, burying her face into the pillow, groaning softly.
> "He's just a man," she told herself. "A man with too much money and too little humility."
But her mind betrayed her again—replaying the way his robe had clung to his chest, the way his voice dipped when he teased her, the way his eyes had lingered on her lips.
> "If he weren't sick… if he weren't in that chair…"
She squeezed the pillow tighter, trying to smother the heat rising in her cheeks.
> "Ugh. No. Stop it. You're not some lovesick girl."
But the image of him—bare-chested, muscles taut, whispering her name in that low, commanding voice—slipped through her defenses.
> "Damn him."
Eventually, exhaustion won. Her lashes fluttered shut, and she drifted into a restless sleep, her dreams tangled with silk sheets and silver eyes.
---
Morning, or Something Like It
The sun was already high when Liu stirred. She blinked at the ornate ceiling, momentarily disoriented. No shouting. No cold water thrown on her face. No barked orders to scrub the floors or fetch water.
She sat up slowly, stretching. Her muscles ached—not from labor, but from the unfamiliar softness of the bed.
> "It's… quiet."
Back home, she'd be up by 4 a.m., scrubbing the stone steps with the servants while Chia slept in. Mei had insisted it built "discipline." Liu had never questioned it. She had only obeyed.
Now, it was 11:23.
She bathed, dressed in a soft jade-green gown that hugged her waist and flared at the hips, and padded barefoot down the grand staircase. Her stomach growled. She braced herself for an empty table and a scolding.
Instead, she found a feast.
Dozens of dishes lined the long ebony table—steamed buns, grilled fish, golden dumplings, fresh fruit, and a pot of jasmine tea still steaming. At the head of the table sat a woman in a crimson cheongsam, her hair pinned in a perfect coil, her lips painted blood-red.
Miss Min Uhi.
---
The First Strike
Min's eyes flicked up as Liu entered. Cold. Calculating. Beautiful in a way that was sharp, not soft.
> Min (coolly): "So. You're the one they sent."
Liu bowed politely.
> Liu: "Good morning."
> Min: "I expected the bull. The proud one. Instead, they sent the rat."
Liu blinked. Rat? That was new.
> Min (sipping tea): "You're smaller than I imagined. Slim. Flat. I suppose they thought you'd be easier to control."
The maids froze. One even dropped a spoon.
Liu didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled—slow, deliberate. She reached for the sash at her waist and gave it a gentle tug, cinching the gown tighter.
The fabric hugged her curves like a second skin. Her chest rose, full and proud. Her hips flared, her silhouette suddenly undeniable.
Gasps echoed around the room. Even Min's eyes widened—just for a second.
> Liu (sweetly): "Flat? I suppose the lighting in here is just… unflattering."
She glided to the table and took her seat, crossing her legs with practiced grace. She reached for a dumpling and bit into it delicately.
> Liu (smiling): "These are delicious. You must have an excellent chef."
Min said nothing. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
> "Round one," Liu thought, sipping her tea. "Mine."
---
[End of chapter 2]