Beneath Her Ice

The car ride with Catherine was quiet. Not the comfortable kind.

Eliza sat composed, hands folded, watching the raindrops chase each other across the tinted glass. Catherine sat opposite, a fortress of elegance and calculation.

"You know how much I've invested in you," Catherine said finally. No preamble. No warmth.

"I'm aware."

"Then you should also be aware that kissing some nonprofit founder in a bar while your merger deal hangs by a thread is—how shall I put it—unwise."

Eliza didn't flinch. But her throat tightened.

"This isn't about the merger," she said.

"No. It's about optics. Control. Image. Things you used to understand."

"I still understand them."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Then explain your lapse in judgment."

Eliza turned to the window. "It wasn't a lapse."

The older woman exhaled sharply. "Is this about rebellion, Eliza? Or are you actually falling for someone whose idea of ambition is a GoFundMe campaign?"

That stung. Not because of Will—but because it mirrored the voice in Eliza's own head. The one that said love was risk, and risk was weakness.

"I didn't ask for your approval," she said.

"No. But you used to care about the business we're building. I thought you wanted a legacy."

Eliza looked at her. "I still do. But I'm starting to realize a legacy built on fear isn't worth very much."

The silence that followed was colder than anything outside.

Catherine sat back, regal and remote. "If you walk this path, you walk it without me. Without my capital. Without my protection."

Eliza nodded slowly. "Understood."

The car stopped outside her building. She stepped out into the rain—no umbrella, no coat. Just the quiet defiance of a woman choosing a different kind of power.

Across the city, Will stared at the text on his phone.

"I'm sorry about earlier. Things are… complicated. Please don't shut down on me."

He typed a response. Deleted it. Typed again. Nothing felt right.

Because he didn't know what she was asking him to do.

Wait?

Forgive?

Hope?

He set the phone down.

For the first time, he was afraid that maybe—just maybe—the woman beneath the ice wasn't ready to thaw.

Not for him.

Not yet.