MELTING ICE

I spent the next few days in a haze. The conversation with Damon had left a mark on me that I couldn't quite shake. His words echoed in my mind, We'll see about that, Vivienne. They were a promise, but they also felt like a threat. I had always been in control of my life, my business, my choices. But now, I was starting to feel like I was losing my grip on everything.

I couldn't escape the thought that Damon wasn't just a man of power and influence—he was a man who played by his own rules. And those rules weren't ones I was prepared to follow.

The day after his visit, I called my parents. I had to get to the bottom of this, to understand what they were planning and why they were so insistent on this marriage. I needed answers, and I needed them fast.

"Vivienne, darling," my mother's voice came through the phone, sweet as ever. "How are you? The show was magnificent. We're so proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But we need to talk. About Damon."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before my mother spoke again, her tone shifting to something more serious. "What about him?"

"I know you and Dad have been making plans," I said, my voice firm. "I want to know exactly what's going on. Why this marriage? Why him?"

There was a pause, and I could practically hear my mother's thoughts racing. She had always been a master of diplomacy, but I knew her well enough to recognize when she was trying to deflect.

"Vivienne, darling," she said, her voice softening. "This is what's best for the family. You know that. Damon's family is powerful. His business, his influence—it's all part of what will secure the future of Moretti Couture. We've been friends with the DeMarcos for years. This marriage will strengthen both of our empires."

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. "So, this is about business? Not about me, not about what I want?"

"Of course it's about you," my mother said, her voice rising in pitch, as if trying to convince herself as much as me. "But you have to understand, Vivienne, this isn't just about personal desires. It's about legacy. It's about ensuring the future of the family. And the DeMarcos are the perfect match for us."

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my emotions in check. "I don't care about legacy, Mom. I care about what's best for me. I've worked too hard to build this life to have it dictated by someone else."

My mother's sigh was heavy, and I could hear the tension in her voice. "I know you think you're making the right decision, but sometimes the right decision isn't the one that feels good in the moment. You'll understand when you're older."

I wanted to scream, to tell her that I wasn't some naive child, that I didn't need her or anyone else to decide my future. But I held it in, taking a deep breath. "I'll think about it," I said, my voice cold. "But I'm not agreeing to anything without understanding the full picture."

I hung up the phone, my heart pounding in my chest. My mother's words haunted me—You'll understand when you're older. What did she think I was, some fragile girl who didn't know how to make decisions for herself? I had built Moretti Couture from the ground up. I wasn't going to let anyone, least of all Damon DeMarco, take that away from me.

---

The next few days passed in a blur of meetings, press conferences, and fittings for the upcoming collections. I kept my distance from Damon, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his presence had affected me. But I couldn't escape the tension that seemed to follow me everywhere I went. I knew he was still lurking in the background, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then, just when I thought I could breathe, my father called.

"Vivienne, we need to talk," he said, his voice serious.

I could tell by the tone that this wasn't a casual conversation. "About what?"

"About the DeMarcos," he said. "They've agreed to the marriage. Your mother and I have already discussed it, and we think it's time you meet with Damon and his family. We're arranging a dinner for next week."

I felt a wave of panic wash over me. "I don't want to meet with them, Dad. I don't want this marriage."

"You don't have a choice," my father said, his voice firm. "This is happening, Vivienne. You need to understand that."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had no choice. They had already made the decision, and now it was just a matter of going through the motions.

"I'll be there," I said, my voice flat. "But I'm not agreeing to anything."

"We'll talk more then," my father said before hanging up.

---

The dinner arrived sooner than I expected. I found myself sitting at the head of the long table, surrounded by the DeMarcos and my parents. Damon sat across from me, his gaze never leaving mine, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room was palpable, and I couldn't help but feel like I was caught in the middle of a game I didn't understand.

The DeMarcos were everything I had imagined—powerful, poised, and cold. Damon's father, Vincenzo DeMarco, was a tall, imposing man with a sharp gaze and an even sharper smile. His mother, Isabella, was elegant and reserved, her beauty almost ethereal. They were a perfect match for my parents, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface.

The dinner itself was a blur. The conversation was polite, almost too polite, with everyone talking around the real issue. My father and Vincenzo exchanged business pleasantries, while my mother and Isabella discussed the latest social events. And then there was Damon. His eyes never left me, and I couldn't decide whether I was intrigued or terrified by the intensity of his gaze.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Damon spoke.

"We've discussed the terms of the marriage," he said, his voice smooth, calm. "It's time to make it official."

I felt my heart race as the words sank in. This was it. The moment I had been dreading. My parents smiled, clearly pleased with how things were progressing. But I couldn't bring myself to smile back. I couldn't bring myself to accept what was happening.

"I'm not ready to make this decision," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to remain composed. "I don't want this marriage."

Damon's eyes softened for the briefest moment, but his expression quickly hardened again. "You don't have a choice, Vivienne. This is happening whether you like it or not."

I felt a surge of anger rise in my chest. "I'm not your pawn, Damon. I'm not going to just do what you want."

"You don't have a choice," he repeated, his voice colder now. "This is bigger than you. Bigger than me. This is about our families, our empires. You don't get to walk away from it."

The room fell silent. My parents exchanged a glance, their faces unreadable. Damon's family remained as composed as ever, but I could feel the pressure mounting. I was trapped, and there was no way out.

---

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The weight of the situation was too much to bear. My parents had already made their decision, and Damon was determined to make sure I followed through. There was no escaping this.

But I wasn't ready to give up yet. I wasn't ready to let go of the life I had built. I couldn't just let Damon and my parents decide my future for me.

I would find a way out. I had to.