The digital clock on Ava's bedside table glowed 4:00 AM. After the intense library session with Liam that had lasted until nearly 1:00 AM, she had only managed three hours of restless sleep. Her body was a map of aches, but her mind was worse—it was a whirlpool of names, dates, and the lingering heat of Liam's hand on her back. Today was the day. The day she would walk into the lion's den as the Ice King's bride.
A soft, rhythmic knock signaled Marcus's arrival. He entered with a silver tray, but this time there was a small, dark blue velvet box next to her herbal tea. "Good morning, Miss Brooks. Mr. Moretti has sent this for you. He says a Moretti bride does not wear 'costume jewelry'."
Ava opened the box. Inside lay a pair of diamond earrings that looked like drops of frozen rain. They were worth more than she had earned in her entire life. She stared at them, feeling the weight of her new reality.
"Madame Valeska will arrive at 5:30 AM for your final transformation," Marcus continued. "But Mr. Moretti is already waiting in the grand ballroom. He says the 'dance of lies' requires practice before the world watches."
By 5:30 AM, Ava was standing in the center of the grand ballroom. It was a cathedral of wealth—gold-leafed ceilings, crystal chandeliers that looked like frozen waterfalls, and a marble floor polished so brightly it mirrored the fear in her eyes. Liam was already there. He was dressed in a simple black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.
"You're late," he said, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. "In the ballroom, every second counts. If you miss a step tonight, the paparazzi will tear you to pieces."
"I was looking at the diamonds you sent," Ava replied, her voice steadying. "They feel like heavy chains, Liam."
Liam walked toward her, his footsteps a rhythmic thud on the marble. He stopped just inches away. "They are armor, Ava. Learn the difference."
He didn't wait for her to respond. He reached out and grabbed her right hand, while his other hand settled firmly on the small of her back. The sudden proximity made Ava's breath hitch. She could smell the coffee and expensive sandalwood on him.
"We dance the Waltz," Liam commanded. "It is the dance of the elite. It looks like grace, but it is actually about control. I lead, you follow. If I push, you yield. If I pull, you come to me."
He signaled the hidden speakers, and a slow, haunting violin melody began to fill the room. Liam began to move. His movements were fluid, powerful, and utterly dominant. Ava stumbled almost immediately, her feet tangling.
"Don't look at your feet!" Liam growled, his grip on her waist tightening until she was pressed flush against his chest. "Look at me. Only me. If you look down, you look guilty. If you look at me, you look in love."
"It's hard to look in love when you're being scolded," Ava snapped back, her eyes meeting his icy blue ones.
For the first time, a ghost of a smile touched Liam's lips. It wasn't a cold smile; it was something sharper, almost playful. "Then use that anger. It looks like passion from a distance."
He spun her suddenly. Her simple silk robe flared out around her. When he caught her and pulled her back, the impact was breathless. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and she could feel the steady, powerful thumping of his heart. It was beating faster than it had in the library.
"Close your eyes," Liam whispered, his breath warm against her temple. "Stop trying to calculate the steps. Feel the music. Feel where my hand moves. I won't let you fall, Ava. I can't afford to let you fall."
Ava closed her eyes. The world disappeared. There was only the scent of him, the strength of his arms, and the way they moved together through the golden light of the ballroom. For a moment, she forgot the contract. She forgot her mother's medical bills. She forgot that he had bought her.
She leaned her head slightly against his shoulder, her hand gripping his silk shirt.
They were moving in perfect harmony now, gliding across the marble like two shadows merging into one. The tension between them shifted from cold business to something thick, heavy, and undeniable.
Liam stopped moving, but he didn't let her go. He kept her pinned against him, his gaze dropping to her lips. The air in the ballroom felt hot, despite the morning chill.
"You learn too fast," Liam rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly tone. "It's a dangerous trait in a woman."
"Is that why you're afraid of me, Liam?" Ava whispered, her heart racing.
His eyes darkened, the ice turning into a stormy blue. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his touch sending shivers through her entire body. For a split second, the distance between them vanished. He leaned in, his lips just a breath away from hers.
Suddenly, the ballroom doors creaked open. "Mr. Moretti, the stylists have arrived."
Liam pulled away instantly, the mask of the Ice King slamming back into place so fast it made Ava's head spin. He turned his back on her, adjusting his cuffs.
"Go," he said, his voice once again cold and detached. "Make sure they hide the waitress under enough silk and powder. I will see you at the gala."
Ava stood in the center of the vast room, her body still tingling from his touch. The waltz was over, but the real dance—the one where hearts were at stake—was just beginning.
As Ava retreated from the ballroom, her skin still felt the phantom pressure of Liam's touch. She returned to her suite, where Madame Valeska and her team were waiting like a firing squad of high fashion. The next few hours were a blur of meticulous labor.
They draped her in the black silk gala dress, a garment so exquisitely crafted it felt like liquid midnight. It hugged her frame perfectly, the low-cut back revealing the elegant line of her spine, while the diamonds Liam had sent caught the light with every slight movement of her head.
When Valeska finally stepped aside, Ava faced the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She gasped. The woman staring back wasn't the tired waitress from the Emerald Club. This woman was ethereal, dangerous, and radiating a quiet power. Her eyes looked larger, framed by thick lashes, and her lips were stained the color of crushed berries.
"The waitress is gone," Valeska whispered, for once looking satisfied. "Tonight, you are the most envied woman in New York. Remember, Ava: silence is your greatest weapon. Let them wonder who you are, and let them fear what you might become."
A knock came at the door—not Marcus this time, but the heavy, unmistakable presence of Liam. Ava took a deep breath, her heart hammering against the silk of her gown. She turned as the door opened. Liam stood there in a tuxedo that made him look like a dark god. He froze at the sight of her, his gaze traveling slowly from her heels to the diamonds at her ears, finally resting on her eyes. The silence between them was thick, charged with the memory of their dance.
"The car is waiting," he said, his voice unusually husky. He extended his arm, and as Ava placed her hand on his sleeve, she realized the game had officially begun.