The transition from a struggling waitress to a billionaire's fiancée didn't happen with a magic wand; it began with a cold, ruthless awakening. At exactly 5:00 AM, the heavy doors of Ava's suite were flung open. Ava bolted upright, her heart hammering. Before she could process her surroundings, a woman named Madame Valeska marched in. Valeska was a legend in the world of high society—a woman who could turn a commoner into royalty with enough discipline and pain.
"Out of bed, Miss Brooks," Valeska's voice was like a whip. "You have exactly forty-eight hours before the world sees you. Right now, you look like a girl who belongs in a subway station. By tomorrow night, you must look like a woman who owns the city."
The morning was a blur of physical exhaustion. Ava was led to a marble bath where two assistants scrubbed her skin with salts until it glowed a raw, healthy pink. Her hair, which had been dull from stress and city smog, was treated with oils that smelled of expensive jasmine. But the beauty treatments were the easy part. The real torture began with the 'Lessons.'
For six hours, Ava had to walk back and forth across the room in four-inch stilettos with a book balanced on her head.
"Shoulders back! Chin up! A Moretti does not walk; she glides!" Valeska screamed every time Ava stumbled. "You are not just a woman, Ava. You are a shield for the Ice King. If you look weak, they will destroy him."
By sunset, Ava felt like a hollow shell. Her feet were swollen, and her brain was fried from learning the names of every board member and the intricate history of the Moretti family. Valeska finally stood back, looking at Ava, who was now dressed in a midnight-blue silk slip dress that clung to her curves like a second skin.
"Go to the library," Valeska commanded. "Mr. Moretti is waiting for his final inspection."
Ava's legs felt like lead as she walked toward the library. The mansion was quiet, the only sound being the click of her heels on the marble floor. She reached the towering mahogany doors and took a deep breath. She pushed the heavy doors with all her strength, but her tired feet betrayed her. Her heel caught the edge of a Persian rug, and she felt herself plummeting forward.
"Ah—!"
Ava braced for the impact of the floor, but instead, she slammed into something solid and warm. Powerful arms instantly wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against a firm, muscular chest. The air left her lungs in a sharp gasp.
Liam had caught her. He had been standing by the fireplace, a glass of scotch in his hand, but he had moved with predatory speed. The force of the collision sent his glass shattering on the floor, but he didn't care. His focus was entirely on the woman in his arms.
Ava looked up, her face inches from his. Liam's eyes weren't icy anymore; they were dark, burning with a fire she hadn't seen before. The dim light of the fireplace cast dancing shadows over his sharp features. His hands were splayed across her lower back, his palms searing through the thin silk of her dress.
"I... I'm sorry," Ava whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm still learning to walk."
Liam didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip, dragging her even closer until their hearts were beating against each other.
"Valeska was wrong," he rasped, his voice deep and vibrating against her chest. "She said she'd turn you into a princess. But you don't look like a princess, Ava."
"I don't?" she asked, her breath hitching as his nose brushed against hers.
"No," Liam murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips. "You look like a temptation I can't afford. You look like trouble."
For a long, agonizing second, the silence in the library was electric. Ava felt a magnetic pull toward him, an urge to close the tiny gap between their lips. She saw his eyes flicker—a moment of raw, human desire breaking through the 'Ice King' persona. But just as she thought he would lean in, the mask returned.
Liam abruptly released her, stepping back into the shadows. "Sit down," he said, his voice cold again, as if the last minute hadn't happened. "We have a gala to prepare for. And you still have a lot to learn."
Ava stood there, breathless and shivering from the sudden loss of his warmth. The game had just become much more dangerous.
Liam moved back to his mahogany desk, the shards of the broken scotch glass glinting like diamonds on the rug between them. He didn't call for a servant to clean it; he didn't even look at the mess. His eyes remained fixed on Ava, who was still trying to steady her breathing.
"The gala tomorrow night isn't just a party, Ava," Liam said, his tone shifting into the clinical, cold resonance of a businessman. "It is a battlefield. My rivals, the Volkovs, will be there. They will look at you not as my fiancée, but as a weakness to be exploited. They will ask about your family, your education, your childhood in Switzerland."
"Switzerland?" Ava blinked, confused. "I've never even been out of New York."
"Exactly," Liam leaned forward, the desk lamp casting a harsh shadow over half his face. "Which is why you have exactly five hours tonight to memorize the life of Ava de la Moretti. You were born in Zurich, educated in boarding schools, and we met while I was closing a merger in Paris. The waitress from the Emerald Club is dead. If you let her resurface even for a second, the scandal will bury us both."
He slid a thick leather-bound folder across the desk. It was her new life, printed on expensive cream-colored paper.
Ava approached the desk, her silk dress rustling with every small step. She felt the weight of the lie pressing down on her. "You're asking me to erase myself, Liam. Everything I am, everything I've struggled for... you want me to just pretend it never happened?"
Liam stood up, his towering presence making the high ceilings of the library feel small. He walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her. He was so close she could smell the smoke of the fireplace clinging to his hair.
"I am paying you ten million dollars to erase yourself," he reminded her, his voice a low growl. "For ten million dollars, most people would sell their souls. I'm only asking for your memory. Now, sit. We will go through the names of the board members. If you miss one, we start from the beginning."
The next few hours were a grueling test of will. Liam was a relentless teacher. He fired names, dates, and faces at her like bullets. Every time Ava's voice faltered or her eyes welled with exhaustion, he would lean in, his cold breath brushing her skin, demanding perfection.
But as the clock struck midnight, the tension in the room shifted. Ava was leaning over a map of the Moretti vineyards, her hair falling over her face in loose, golden waves. She felt a hand move near her—not to strike or point, but to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
The touch was so unexpected, so tender, that Ava froze. She looked up and found Liam staring at her with an expression that wasn't cold at all. It was weary. For a split second, the Ice King looked human.
"You're tired," he said softly.
"I'm more than tired, Liam," she whispered.
"I'm terrified."
His hand lingered near her jaw, his thumb grazing the line of her skin. The air in the library became heavy again, thick with the unspoken words between them. "Fear is good, Ava. It keeps you sharp. But remember... in that ballroom tomorrow, I am the only person you can trust. No matter what they say, no matter what you see—you stay by my side."
He withdrew his hand as if burned, the wall of ice slamming back into place. "Go to bed. Marcus will wake you at five. Tomorrow, we teach you how to dance. And God help us if you're as clumsy on the dance floor as you are at my door."
Ava didn't answer. She turned and walked out, but she could feel his eyes on her until she reached the darkness of the hallway. She realized then that the most dangerous part of this contract wasn't the lies or the enemies—it was the man who had just touched her with a tenderness that felt like a trap.