Isla's POV
I wake up to silence.
No birthday song. No balloons. No Damien standing in my doorway with that cold, perfect face that's haunted my dreams for six years.
Just silence in this beautiful prison he built for me.
My phone buzzes. Harper's face fills the screen, her dark hair wild around her shoulders. Happy birthday, princess! Tell me Mr. Ice King at least acknowledged you exist today?
I force a laugh, sitting up against silk pillows that cost more than most people's cars. He's probably forgotten.
Liar. That man knows everything about you. It's creepy. Harper leans closer to the camera. Seriously though, did he plan anything?
I haven't seen him yet.
Of course not. God forbid he acts like a normal human being. She rolls her eyes. Get dressed. I'm coming over with presents and enough champagne to make you forget you live with an ice sculpture.
After she hangs up, I stare at my bedroom ceiling. Crystal chandeliers. White marble. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Everything perfect and cold, just like the man who owns it.
Just like the man I can't stop thinking about.
I shake my head. Stop it, Isla. He's your guardian. Nothing more.
But my racing pulse calls me a liar.
Downstairs, the staff rushes around preparing for tonight's party. Flowers everywhere. Tables being set. Mrs. Chen, the housekeeper, smiles when she sees me. Happy birthday, dear! Eighteen years old. My, how you've grown.
Thank you. I look around. Is he
Mr. Blackwood is in his study. Her smile dims. Working, as always.
My heart sinks like a stone.
Of course he is. What did you expect? That today would be different?
I find Elias, Damien's assistant, directing the catering staff. He's the closest thing to a friend Damien has, which says everything about the man who raised me.
Elias, is Damien coming to the party?
Elias's kind eyes soften. He said he'd make an appearance.
An appearance. Like I'm a business meeting. A obligation.
Right. Thanks. I turn away before he can see my face.
I spend the afternoon getting ready, trying on three different dresses before choosing the white one. It makes me look older. Sophisticated. Like a woman instead of the broken twelve-year-old girl he took in.
I want him to see me differently. I need him to.
Harper arrives early, arms full of gift bags and champagne bottles. Let's get this party started! You only turn eighteen once.
But I can barely focus on her chatter. My eyes keep drifting to the hallway, waiting for him.
Friends from school arrive. People I barely know but invited anyway because an empty party would be pathetic. They laugh and drink and dance while I smile and pretend I'm having fun.
But I'm not. Because he's not here.
The sun starts setting, painting the ballroom gold and orange. I'm about to give up when movement catches my eye.
Damien stands in the doorway.
My breath stops.
He's devastating in a black suit that fits perfectly across his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it. Those gray eyes—the ones that see everything—find mine across the crowded room.
The air changes. Thickens.
Everyone else fades away. The music becomes background noise. It's just him and me and this terrible, wonderful tension that's been building for months.
Years, if I'm honest.
He's holding a small wrapped box. Silver paper. Black ribbon.
He walks toward me, and people move out of his way without being asked. That's Damien's power—he doesn't demand attention, he commands it.
Harper squeezes my arm. Oh girl. The way that man looks at you—
Stop, I whisper.
But she's right. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, burning across my skin.
He stops in front of me. Up close, I can see the shadows under his eyes. Has he been sleeping? Working too much again?
Happy birthday. His voice is low, controlled. Always controlled.
He hands me the box. Our fingers brush, and electricity shoots up my arm. His jaw clenches. Did he feel it too?
I unwrap it with shaking hands. Inside is a diamond bracelet—delicate, expensive, beautiful.
And completely impersonal.
My chest tightens with disappointment. This is something you give a business associate. Not someone you've lived with for six years. Not someone who's been yours to protect and care for.
Not someone you might possibly love.
Thank you, I manage. It's beautiful.
Will you put it on me? The words come out before I can stop them.
Something flashes in his eyes. Hunger? Pain? It's gone before I can identify it.
He takes my wrist. His fingers are warm, strong. They linger longer than necessary, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. Can he feel how fast my heart's beating?
The moment stretches. Someone coughs. The world exists again.
Damien releases me like I burned him and steps back. Enjoy your party.
Then he's gone, retreating to the shadows at the edge of the room. But I feel his eyes on me for the rest of the night. Every time I laugh. Every time I move. Every time I breathe.
Harper pulls me aside later. That tension between you two could power the city. What's going on?
Nothing. He's just protective.
Isla, I've known you for six years. That's not protective. That's— She stops. Be careful. Men like him don't feel things halfway.
After midnight, when everyone's leaving, I watch Damien from across the room. He's nursing the same glass of scotch he's had all night, his eyes never leaving me.
I'm walking toward him when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number: You look beautiful tonight. White suits you. Like an angel. But we both know you're not innocent anymore, are you? Not with the way you look at him. The way you want him. Someone should tell the world what kind of girl you really are. What kind of man he really is. Sweet dreams, birthday girl.
Ice floods my veins.
I spin around, searching the room. Who sent this? How do they know
My eyes find Damien's across the space.
He's already moving toward me, face dark with concern.
But all I can think is: Someone knows. Someone sees what I've been trying to hide.
Someone's watching us.