**The Burden of the Crown**
However, there was a coldness to Nia's existence, an isolation she rarely acknowledged. Her pride was a fortress, but it was also a cage.
Because everyone treated her as a prize, she had never really been known. Her friends were other socialites who competed with her. Her boyfriends had been sons of other tycoons who wanted her on their arm to boost their stock value. They loved the *idea* of Nia Sterling. They loved the way she looked in an evening gown. They loved the envy in other men's eyes.
But did they love *her*?
Nia pushed the thought away. It was a peasant's thought. Love was adoration, was it not? Love was gifts, and protection, and being told you were the most important person in the room. She had all of that. She was drowning in it.
She returned to her desk, the heels of her shoes clicking rhythmically on the marble floor.
"Julian!" she called out, pressing the intercom button with a manicured nail.
"Yes, Nia?" came the weary reply.
"I'm bored. Can I go home early? I need to prep for the charity gala tonight. The humidity is threatening to ruin my blowout."
There was a pause. "It's 2:00 PM, Nia."
"Exactly. Traffic will be horrid later."
"Go," Julian said. "Just... make sure you look stunning tonight. The Board will be there."
"I always do," she replied, cutting the connection.
She gathered her purse—a Birkin that cost more than a mid-sized sedan—and stood up. As she walked to the elevator, she didn't say goodbye to the other assistants. She didn't have to. She was the sun; she didn't bid farewell to the planets as she set.
**The Ice Princess**
The drive home to the Sterling estate was smooth, her chauffeur navigating the chaos of the city while she sat in the back of the Bentley, climate-controlled and isolated.
Nia looked out the window at the people rushing on the sidewalks. They looked tired. Their clothes were ill-fitting. They carried worries on their faces like heavy sacks. She felt a distant pang of pity, but it was abstract, like feeling sorry for a character in a book. She couldn't relate to their struggle. Her life had been a long, unbroken hallway of open doors.
When she arrived at the estate, the iron gates swung open automatically. The house was a sprawling mansion of white stone, surrounded by manicured gardens where nature was forced to behave.
She entered the grand foyer, greeted by the house staff who took her coat and bag.
"Welcome home, Miss Nia," the butler said, bowing slightly.
"Prepare a bath," she ordered, not breaking stride as she headed for the grand staircase. "Lavendar and rose oil. And tell the chef I want a light salad for a pre-dinner snack. Nothing with carbs."
" immediately, Miss."
Up in her room—a suite that occupied the entire east wing of the second floor—Nia collapsed onto her four-poster bed. The room was a shrine to her taste: creams, golds, and soft pinks. Walk-in closets overflowed with haute couture.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the chandelier hanging above her bed.
This was her life. A succession of beautiful rooms, beautiful clothes, and people saying "yes." It was what every girl dreamed of. It was a fairy tale.
So why did she feel so... cold?
It was the ice. The "Pride and Ice" that defined her. The pride kept her chin high, kept her believing she was superior. But the ice was the barrier between her and reality. She was preserved in permafrost, unchanging, untouched by the grit and heat of real human experience.
She sat up, shaking off the moment of introspection. It was dangerous to think too much. It caused wrinkles.
She walked to her vanity mirror, a massive ornate thing surrounded by lights. She sat down and leaned in, examining her face. Not a pore out of place.
"They hate you," she whispered to her reflection, thinking of the girls in the office. "Because they can't be you."
She picked up a silver hairbrush and began to stroke her long, dark hair.
"And they love you," she added, thinking of the men who would line up to dance with her tonight. "Because they want to own you."
A smile, slow and practiced, spread across her face. It was a smile that didn't reach her eyes, a smile of pure, crystalline pride.
She was Nia Sterling. She was the girl who had everything. And if the world felt a little cold from the top of the mountain, well, that was just the price of the view. She would wrap herself in cashmere and diamonds, and she would endure. After all, what else was a queen to do?