📖 Chapter 2: Built From Ice (Expanded – 1,600+ words)
Michelle Hutton had never believed in softness. Never in his life time . Never in his dreams.
Not in business.
Not in relationships.
Not in life.
He was born into steel and sculpted by shadows , raised behind gates where affection was a foreign language, and love was something you read about in books written by people who failed at life. At least something his pops rings about.
Success, he was told, was the only emotion worth showing.
And that he showed, pretty well.
***
The boardroom at Hutton Tower was silent.
Six men and two women sat stiffly in tailored suits, their laptops glowing, their mouths closed, their hearts racing. The screen behind Michelle flickered with numbers ,quarterly returns, rising metrics, global growth lines stretching upward like obedient graphs.
Michelle leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, fingers steepled. His facials, murderous.
He didn't need to speak.
He'd built a reputation so sharp and clinical that his silence carried more weight than most CEOs' speeches.
Finally, one brave executive cleared his throat. "Uh, sir… the Celeste Couture partnership. We've finalized the contract."
Michelle arched a brow. "And the branding contest?"
"Wrapped up last night. One of the designs went viral in-house. Hasn't been announced publicly yet."
"Show me."
***
The assistant clicked.
A digital sketch appeared on screen , soft ivory, delicate lines, layered tulle like smoke. Beading scattered like stars.
The room faded around Michelle.
"Elysian Dusk."
The name burned gently at the base of the image.
There was something in it. Something... unsettling. A rawness. A hidden ache sewn into satin. A design that looked like it had survived heartbreak and still dared to dream. At the same time , saying a lot about the designer.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful to be random.
"Who's the designer?" he asked.
The assistant glanced nervously at her tablet. "Uh... it's an open submission. But I can request the name..."
"No," Michelle said quickly, surprising himself. "Leave it anonymous… for now."
***
Later, in his office , alone and towering above the city ,Michelle stared at a printed copy of the design, one hand flat against the image as though he could feel the heartbeat of its creator through paper.
It reminded him of something.
Or someone. He couldn't place exactly but he had this feeling that it's something or someone who could change him.
***
He'd been twenty-five when he first saw a sketch like this.
Not in a boardroom.
But in a tiny notebook, held shyly in the hands of a girl with too much light in her eyes and too little fear in her voice.
He never asked her name.
He never got the chance to.
He was too busy chasing success to do that . Besides his parents had taken care of that.
They crushed her out of his world before she could matter.
Or so they thought.
***
Jarson entered quietly.
Michelle didn't turn. "Status on the Zara Lantham campaign?"
"Scheduled. She wants confirmation on Dubai fittings."
"Tell her no."
Jarson hesitated. "Sir… the press is expecting a public appearance."
Michelle's gaze flicked over his shoulder. "Let them expect."
***
Zara Lantham was not a fiancée. She was a family deal , polished, pre-approved, emotionally convenient. Her kisses tasted like strategy and her touch felt like business hours.
Michelle never loved her.
She didn't expect him to. Or so he thought.
He was a Hutton.
Not a husband.
And she better be fine with that , not like he cares tho. But just so they be on the same page .
***
His phone vibrated.
An incoming call from Laura Hutton.
He ignored it.
Then came a text:
📱 "Your father and I expect you at the gala. No excuses this time."
He exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Just a release of something heavier than breath.
Michelle had learned to live in a world where parents managed their child's life like a corporation. Where celebrations were branded. Where emotions never existed.Where grief wasn't discussed , just scheduled.
Even now, at 32, with two degrees, ten companies, and a personal jet, he still answered to them. Not like he dares to do otherwise.
***
He turned back to the sketch.
"Find the person who drew this,and be fast" he murmured.
Jarson blinked. "Sir?"
"Quietly. No noise. No PR trails.No family involvement."
Jarson's eyes narrowed slightly. "It spoke to you?"
Michelle didn't respond.
But the silence was answer enough.
***
That night, Michelle sat in the backseat of his black Bentley as it drove through the quieter parts of town. He rarely came this far south ,didn't need to. But tonight, he needed air that didn't taste like artificial wealth.
The lights of Westbridge flickered in the distance.
For a brief second, he saw a girl in a hoodie through the window of a small tailor's shop , hunched over a sewing machine, working by lamplight.
His heart… didn't skip.
It just... noticed
***
He didn't know it was her.
Not yet.
But perhaps he felt it.
The girl who once drew dresses with hope.
The girl who once made him wonder if maybe, just maybe… he could be more than a Hutton.
***
But fate had already set the pieces.
And "Elysian Dusk" was only the beginning, a tip of an iceberg.