"Lea?"
His voice barely left his throat before a crash came through the line, a glass, a sharp inhale, then nothing.
"Lea!" "Lea, talk to me."
Static hissed back at him. The call ended with a single flat tone.
And George Robert, the tough man who the world called the Ice King, felt real fear for the first time in years.
For a heartbeat he just stood there, phone in hand, staring at the wall of rain beyond his office window. Then instinct hit. He grabbed his coat and ran.
"Cancel the rest of my meetings," he told his assistant, already moving. Okay sir, but... She tried to speak to him, but the elevator doors shut between them.
George ran to his car hastily without minding the rain. By the time the car door closed, he'd redialed three times. Voicemail. Again. Again.
"Sir?" the driver asked.
"Her villa. Now."
"But the storm..."
"I said NOW!" He yelled, even though his voice was without weight.
The engine roared to life.
Rain hammered the windshield so hard it blurred the city into streaks of silver and red. George pressed the phone to his ear, listening to voicemail that never ended. "The number you are trying to call is currently not available, please call back later or drop a message, thank you."
She had answered. He had heard her breathe. Heard the fear.
He clenched his jaw until his teeth began to hurt. He had promised himself that staying away would keep her safe. That divorcing her would erase the target painted on her back. He had believed the lie right up until that sound, that crash, reminded him how stupid hope could be.
"Drive faster," he said.
"Sir, we'll skid..."
"I said faster."
The driver's hands trembled on the wheel.
George's chest burned. He could almost see her, barefoot, startled, maybe reaching for her phone. He would never forget the tremor in her voice when she said his name last.
George…
It echoed through his skull, softer than thunder, sharper than guilt.
The car jolted as water splashed across the road. His phone buzzed, security line.
"Report," he snapped.
"Sir, the villa's external feed went dark ten minutes ago. Backup sensors went offline too. We're trying to fix..."
He hung up without waiting for him to finish. He checked his last call with Lea and muttered... ten minutes ago. That is exactly the same time he had called her.
He gripped the armrest until his knuckles whitened. For years he had built a life on control, controlling markets, men, and emotions. But love had never been part of that equation. Not until Lea.
He had fallen for her warmth the way cold metal craved fire. She had thawed him, softened the edges no one dared to touch. And then he had had to cut her loose in order to save her from the people who wanted to break him. The people who wanted to destroy him.
He thought distance was the key to her protection. Now it felt like betrayal.
When the car finally screeched to a stop, the gate to her villa stood open. Rain poured down the stone drive, pooling around his shoes as he stepped out.
"Wait here," he ordered, already drawing the small flashlight from his pocket.
Lightning flashed, and the house loomed ahead, windows dark, door half-open, wind howling through.
"Lea?"
His voice vanished into the storm.
Inside, the air was heavy with rain and something metallic. He moved through the hall slowly, scanning corners, every nerve screaming.
A chair was overturned. The glass vase she loved lay shattered, lilies crushed beneath his steps. Her phone lay on the floor, screen spider-webbed, still glowing with his missed calls.
He crouched, touching the broken device like it might answer him.
Then he saw it, a slip of white on the table, the ink bleeding from raindrops.
You couldn't protect her.
The words hit harder than any bullet could.
For a moment he just stood there, breathing through the pain. Then he noticed something else, her necklace, the small silver one he had given her in their first year together. The clasp was broken.
He picked it up, thumb tracing the charm. A drop of rain or maybe a tear fell on it, he couldn't tell which.
"Lea…"
Her name cracked in his throat.
Thunder rolled again, shaking the windows.
He turned as headlights cut through the rain outside, one of his men, maybe, responding late. But his phone buzzed before he reached the door.
An unknown number. One message.
He opened it.
A single photo filled the screen, Lea, unconscious, her hair damp, a bruise on her temple. She was slumped against the seat of a car, her hands tied to her back, her mouth taped.
Beneath it was a message.
Come alone if you ever want to see her again.
The room tilted for a second, and he had to steady himself against the wall.
All the boardroom lessons, the strategies, the speeches, none of them mattered. This wasn't a deal he could negotiate.
He typed back one word: Where?
No reply.
He exhaled, long and shaky, forcing air past the stone in his chest. The man who had walked away to protect her had failed. The Ice King has melted into nothing but a terrified husband.
"Get the car ready," he told the driver with a weary voice when he stepped outside.
"Sir..."
"Not a word please. Just drive when I say."
Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, lightning framing him in cold light.
He looked once at the villa, their last home together, then he slipped her broken necklace into his pocket.
On the road, rain washed through the empty street as the car sped.
Memories of her laughter, soft and real, collided with the image of her helpless in that car. At this point, nothing else existed, no deals, no empire, just the desperate need to reach her before it is too late.
"Hold on, Lea," he murmured. "I'm coming for you. I'm coming to save you."
The storm swallowed his words, but he didn't care.
He was already running.