Chapter 4: A Marriage of Ice

Victoria's POV

My body aches to the bone. The relentless flashes of the press cameras, the suffocatingly tight corset of my wedding dress, and the non-stop fake smiling have completely drained my energy.

I sit on the edge of the massive white king-sized bed in my designated room, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief. I am finally free. I have just tied my long hair into a messy bun and slipped into my favorite, oversized, baby-blue silk pajamas. They are impossibly comfortable.

Suddenly, three sharp knocks echo from my bedroom door.

I freeze. I hadn't requested any room service or help from the maids. A sudden spike of anxiety grips my chest. Is it Alexander? He swore he would never touch me, but men like him view everything within their domain as their property. If he thinks he can waltz in here and claim his "husbandly rights," he is in for a rude awakening.

Bracing myself, I slide off the plush mattress. My bare feet sink into the thick gray carpet as I cross the massive room. I take a deep breath, unlock the door, and pull it open.

Alexander stands in the doorway. He doesn't look at my face. His eyes immediately sweep down my body in a jarring assessment. It’s then that I notice his disheveled hair, the loosened tie, and the unmistakable faint red smudge of lipstick near the corner of his mouth.

He clearly didn't waste any time rushing into Isabella's arms. So what on earth is he doing here?

He stares at my oversized pajamas, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. The devastating smirk I expected to see is completely absent.

"You're... wearing pajamas," he breathes out, completely baffled, as if I had opened the door wearing a garbage bag.

"It's called sleepwear, Alexander. It's what people wear when they plan to sleep. What exactly did you expect?"

His confusion instantly morphs into a dark, defensive glare. "First of all," he snaps, pointing a finger, "Isabella is in the master suite. Do not cross over to that wing under any circumstances."

I stare back at him, feeling an overwhelming wave of relief wash over me. "I assure you, nothing over there holds any appeal to me."

"And second," he continues, his posture rigid, "I needed to confirm you were actually in here. I might need to drag you out for a beachfront photo-op tomorrow morning."

It sounds like a pathetic excuse, but I don't care enough to press him. I just want my bed.

I let out an exaggerated yawn. "Consider me securely stored in my designated box. Now, if we're done?"

He scoffs, looking away in visible frustration. "This is fucking unbelievable."

"What is?"

"Nothing. Enjoy your pathetic, solitary evening."

"I will. And you enjoy whatever messy performance you're putting on down the hall."

"That is none of your business, and—"

"Goodnight, Alexander." I shut the heavy door firmly in his face, the satisfying click of the lock echoing in the quiet room.

I don't wait to hear him leave. I practically skip back to my bed, jumping into the center and burying myself under the thick, feathery duvet. My phone lights up on the bedside table with endless notifications. I glance at them briefly—pictures of Alexander and me kissing at the altar, glossy headlines predicting a fairytale romance.

A tiny, sharp ache pierces my heart. Under different circumstances, tonight was supposed to be magical. I was supposed to be in the arms of a man who loved me deeply. Instead, I am isolated on a remote island with a man who despises my existence.

I push the melancholy aside and open a text from my dad.

'Congratulations, my precious girl. Your mother would be so immensely proud of the beautiful woman you’ve become. I know she is smiling down from heaven. May you always be safe and happy.'

A tear pricks my eye, but I wipe it away with a soft smile. My mother’s absence stings, especially today, but seeing my father secure and out of debt makes every second of this charade worth it. Mrs. Sterling has already shown me the maternal warmth I’ve missed for so long.

I burrow deeper into my soft pillows, exhaling a long sigh of absolute peace. Let Alexander do whatever he wants with Isabella. The lingerie box my friend jokingly gave me will rot in the closet for all I care. This is my perfect wedding night—undisturbed rest. I close my eyes, drifting effortlessly into a deep, comforting sleep.

~

Alexander's POV

I storm down the massive, dimly lit hallway, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turn chalk-white.

She slammed the door in my face. Again.

Who the hell does Victoria think she is? I fully expected her to be lounging on that bed in the sheer lace lingerie from the box, begging for my attention so I could crush her ego into dust. Instead, she was bundled up in ridiculous silk pajamas, yawning at me like I was a minor inconvenience!

The infuriating dismissal burns through my veins. I am Alexander Sterling. Women throw themselves at my feet, yet my own wife treats me like a nuisance. I pace the expansive corridors for nearly twenty minutes, trying to burn off the irrational fury consuming me before returning to my suite.

When I finally push open the doors, Isabella is lounging on her side, propped up on one elbow. Her breasts are practically spilling out of the crimson lace, but the sight of her barely registers.

"So..." she giggles mischievously, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Did you crush her little heart?"

I let out a low grunt, aggressively shrugging off my suit jacket and tossing it to the floor. I sit on the edge of the mattress, my back explicitly turned to her, staring blankly at the wall.

Isabella crawls across the silk sheets. The bed dips behind me. Her soft hands glide over my tense shoulders, her lips brushing my ear. "Oh come on, babe. Tell me she was desperate. Tell me she begged you to stay."

I stand up abruptly, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Isabella follows me immediately, pressing her chest against my back as her hands reach around to unbutton my shirt.

"Not now, Isabella," I snap, grabbing her wrists to physically stop her.

"What's your problem? I've been waiting for you to come devour me," she whines, pressing herself harder against me.

Victoria’s bored expression flashes behind my eyes, fueling my erratic anger. "I said back off!" I shove her hands away and step back.

Isabella gasps, her eyes widening in pure shock before narrowing into furious slits. "Fine! Go rot in your bad mood!" She stomps past me, slamming the enormous marble bathroom door and aggressively locking it from the inside.

I don't go after her. I drop into a plush armchair by the window, pouring myself a heavy glass of scotch. To distract myself, I pull out my phone, scrolling mindlessly through the news. Article after article praises Victoria's stunning beauty, claiming she has successfully "tamed the billionaire."

I scoff, downing my drink, the alcohol burning my throat. She has tamed absolutely nothing. I will break her arrogance. Step by step, I will ruin her until she realizes exactly who holds all the cards in this marriage.

After an hour of brooding in silence, I walk over to the bathroom door. Isabella has a right to be angry. I am projecting my frustration onto her.

"Babe, unlock the door," I say, keeping my voice low.

"Go to hell! I dressed up for nothing!"

"Open it. I brought that diamond tennis bracelet you've been eyeing."

The lock clicks instantly. The door cracks open, and Isabella leaps into my arms, wrapping her long legs around my waist. "You better not be playing with me," she beams, kissing my neck frantically. I carry her to the bed, letting physical release distract me from the disaster of my master plan.

~

Two hours later, Isabella falls into a dead sleep, completely exhausted. I lie awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The adrenaline crash has left me with a dry mouth and a lingering restlessness.

I pull on my silk robe and quietly slip out of the suite, heading downstairs to pour myself a glass of ice water from the kitchen. The sheer scale of this island mansion is incredible. Soon, the Sterling empire will be entirely under my control. Once my father hands over the chairman title, I will ruthlessly divorce Victoria and toss her back to her mediocre life.

With a glass of water in hand, I decide to wander the house, exploring the architecture. Unintentionally, my feet lead me down the left corridor, toward the guest wing.

As I approach the end of the hall, near the heavy wooden doors of Victoria's room, my footsteps slow. The massive house is dead silent, save for the distant crashing of the ocean waves outside.

But as I pass her door, a different sound stops me dead in my tracks.

It is faint, muffled by the thick wood, but unmistakable. I slowly turn my head toward her room, my eyes narrowing in the darkness.

She is crying.