Page 7

Led by a polite beta from HR, I walked through the halls of DevApp, heading toward Winter Nolan’s office.

My hands were clenched into nervous fists, my throat dry. Every now and then, I ran my fingers through my hair in a tic-like gesture, pushing my bangs out of one eye. I had no idea how the day was going to go.

I’d only seen Winter a handful of times, and always from a distance, usually at company banquets I was dragged to and attended very reluctantly. My father had clearly been planning to pull me into the family business for a while, so he figured I should start showing up and getting used to the atmosphere.

So I had the chance to see Winter with my own eyes, and I have to admit, there was something fascinating about him. His albino appearance made him stand out from the crowd. He came off as aloof, unapproachable, his gaze usually fixed somewhere above the person he was talking to, his whole presence wrapped in a kind of distance.

We’d never been introduced before, not directly. So today was supposed to be the first time I’d actually look at him up close.

He’d been working at DevApp for years, starting back in college. He was a brilliant programmer, truly exceptional, and on top of that, he had a knack for management. My father valued him highly, practically considered him his right-hand man, consulting him on major decisions about acquiring new clients and negotiating contracts.

Winter’s opinion mattered more than anyone’s, except my father’s, when it came to this company and its business decisions.

The HR beta turned to me with a friendly smile and gestured toward the door on our right.

"This is Director Nolan’s office. Go ahead."

We both stepped inside.

Behind a wide desk sat my new director.

The office was medium-sized but very elegantly furnished, designed for comfort. The shelves were lined with thick folders, probably full of project reports. A large board hung on the wall, and a few chairs were pushed against it, likely for people meeting with the director.

Winter didn’t stand up when he saw me, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

If my father thought Winter was going to be warm and friendly toward me, he was sorely mistaken. I knew right away this wasn’t an easy deal for him.

He had to hire a damn alpha, something he’d resisted for years. My father pretty much shared his views, but rarely expressed them in front of me, for obvious reasons.

But who knows what they talked about behind closed doors? Maybe they sat around trash-talking alphas together? They probably agreed on most things, otherwise, Winter wouldn’t be so firm in his stance. He knew my father leaned the same way, so he just fueled that natural bias.

My eyes lingered on Winter’s face. He definitely wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, he was kind of fascinating. He looked almost albino, but… he wasn’t. His eyes weren’t red, and his hair was platinum blond, not completely white.

Also, his brows, his eyelashes, they were the same color, giving him an otherworldly look, like some kind of ice elf.

But one thing was undeniable, the paleness that many might find off-putting drew attention away from his features. And his features… well, they were kind of striking!

Sharp, symmetrical, almost sculptural. Beautiful, even—but with a certain severity, an aristocratic coldness that could come across as unapproachable.

To be honest, he was beautiful, at least to me. Obviously, I dig this kind of uncommon appearance, being an artist.

From what I’d observed before, his expression was always controlled, his posture rigid. There was a constant air of superiority about him, like he kept the whole world at arm’s length by default.

And his eyes… a light silver-gray, eerily pale, like a zombie’s. Framed by those nearly white lashes, it looked as if snow was constantly falling over his face.

That hostile aura radiating from him was only softened by his lips, and they were something else.

Full, well-shaped, sensual. But they didn’t dominate his face, didn’t define his aura. Instead, they felt like a contradiction, like an isolated island of warmth in an ocean of ice.

Since the director didn’t stand up or offer a handshake, I saw no reason to go over and initiate one myself. I wasn’t crazy.

The beta from HR formally introduced us to each other, as if I had any doubt about who I was standing in front of.

The HR guy cleared his throat, said his goodbyes, and left—his expression a little too amused.

He probably knew about Winter’s infamous distaste for alphas. Maybe he thought he was throwing a lamb to the wolf.

Well, whatever. I had to deal with it.

After a polite ‘Hello’, I offered a small nod, meeting his gaze.

It was like looking into the eyes of a mannequin, completely devoid of emotion. Just… blank.

They gave me a cold once-over, sweeping over the drawing printed on my T-shirt and the fern tattoos visible on my forearms.

"You’ve been assigned to the graphics department under my management," he said. "You start today. Manager Lorens will be here shortly to get you up to speed."

I’ll admit, for some reason, I thought he was going to start with some weird intro, like "I hate you, filthy alphas" or "Well, damn you, jackass, I had to hire you, but I really didn’t want to" —or something else equally hostile. But of course, he didn’t do that. Those were just my masochistic fantasies. He kept it professional, and maybe that was for the best.

His reserved energy kind of worked for me. In some ways, it was better than the alternative, at least we could pretend, keep up appearances.

And pretending? That was something I was great at—I lived by pretense. A supposed alpha. A supposedly lucky golden child, born into a millionaire family. A supposedly lazy son of a bitch.

Okay. That last one… well, no one had any doubts about that. Though they didn’t really know me.

I pulled a polite, equally professional smile onto my face and said,

"Thank you for this opportunity, Director Nolan. I’ll do my best to fulfill my responsibilities."

I almost laughed at how stiff that sounded. Like we were both actors in a play, reciting lines we didn’t believe in.

For some reason, my gaze shifted across his face, lingering on it a moment longer. On his lips.

On that lonely island—something other than cold, whiteness, and pallor.

Ah, they were soft, very pleasantly defined lips! As if they belonged to a completely different person, with a wholly different character. Pouty, sensual lips, and though it seems absurd, for a brief moment, I imagined myself leaning in and kissing them. Haha… they felt plush, responsive, parting, and I could taste that sweetness.

Another funny association with ice cream came to my mind. It’s cold, but when you touch it with your lips, it turns out to be sweet.

I barely held back a smile because it was so absurd, surreal! After all, I would never kiss him; I’d probably freeze like I was touching liquid nitrogen.

Fighting off a wave of dark humor, I had to tighten the muscles in my face to stop my lips from spreading into a smile, but I failed. Winter seemed to notice, his strange white eyebrows narrowing slightly.

"Is something amusing you, Mr. Lowen?" he said in that flat tone of his.

"No, absolutely nothing. I’m just happy to be starting work. I hope we’ll have a good working relationship, Director."

Yep, he sensed something. Strange, I knew he could sniff out my dark-humored approach.

"Are we gonna have a problem here, Lowen?" His tone was like the crack of an ice whip. It froze me, and I swallowed hard.

He stood up, and I flinched slightly, not expecting the movement. It felt almost foreign, unnatural. Winter seemed more suited to sitting on his icy throne like an elven ruler rather than pacing around the desk, which he proceeded to do.

Even though he was three inches shorter than me, I didn’t feel taller at all, quite the opposite. The director had a presence, something solid and immovable. Probably worked out a lot… He stepped closer.

"You see, Lowen, I know the kind of attitude boys born with a silver spoon in their mouths tend to have. Like they can get away with anything. Because Daddy will always fix it for them. They can be as cocky, as arrogant as they want, because one day, they’ll be the ones calling the shots." His eyes narrowed. "That’s exactly why I didn’t want you in my department. A ticking time bomb, ready to explode and tear apart my well-functioning team. A spoiled little prince who’d strut around, knowing he’d never face consequences. If that’s how you plan to act, turn around right now, march back to your father’s office, and tell him I’m resigning. I won’t work with a spoiled brat."

I stared at him, mouth slightly open.

This guy seriously hated me. Big time.

The intensity of it hit me like a thousand white icicle needles piercing my skin. It hurt, damn it. Almost physically.

Actually, not almost, it really did hurt!

My chest tightened. My breath caught, I coughed, fighting for another breath, suddenly lightheaded. What the fuck…

Then, out of nowhere…

I saw myself on the floor, the HR beta leaning over me. The image was blurry at first, my brain taking a second to sharpen its focus. That’s when I noticed him.

Winter stood nearby, watching me, his face devoid of emotion.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice detached.

What the hell just happened? Did I faint?

The beta put an arm around me, helping me sit up.

"Uhh… yeah, low blood sugar," I lied, feeling like an idiot. Like a bug under someone’s shoe.

Didn’t I predict it?

A privileged little rich kid nobody wanted around. That’s who I was to them. Yeah, I got that right.

And maybe I deserved it?

Maybe I really was a damn pimple on everyone’s backside, an annoying little blemish that needed to be removed from the environment of all hard-working people.

Then I felt it. Something warm slid down my freckled hand.

For fuck’s sake! A tear? It was so embarrassing! Was I really falling apart like this?

Of course I was, a fucking emo, after all. But what could I do? No one was ever going to sympathize with me. That’s just how it is for rich kids. We’re hated. It’s the default setting. We’re the disgusting little punks who deserve every bad thing that comes our way.

"Leave us," Winter ordered, his voice sharp.

The HR beta hesitated for half a second before practically vanishing. And I couldn’t blame him. If I could’ve swapped places with him, I would have, in a heartbeat.

I swallowed hard and, with real fear, lifted my gaze to Winter.

The ice prince. He stood before me, radiating frost, a snowstorm in human form, cutting through the air like a million razor-thin shards of ice. And his eyes…

Hmmm.

"Quite an unexpected reaction," he murmured. "I wonder where it’s coming from."

Okay, so he wanted to know?

Here we go…

"I didn’t want to work here!" I whimpered like a child, more tears threatening to spill. Damn traitors—my own emotions making a fool of me. "I never asked for this! Quite the opposite! He insisted! If I’m really such a damn disaster for your whole setup, then—" I stopped and rubbed my face to wipe away the tears.

Winter was silent, tilting his head slightly. His thick ponytail shifted over his shoulder, white strands spilling onto the elegant steel-gray fabric of his suit.

For a few seconds, his eyes dropped to my chest, where the scene I’d drawn yesterday was printed on my T-shirt. Did something flicker in his gaze, surprise, maybe? Or just more hate. That seemed more likely.

"So we’re both trapped in an unfortunate situation," he said at last. "I suggest a truce, Lowen. Let’s not get in each other’s way. That would be best. Stay away from me, got it? And maybe we’ll both survive this."

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and slowly pushed myself up, still swaying. My chest ached, something deep, something intense. A terrible sadness settled there, heavy and unshakable.

I once heard that the worst pain in the world is a True Mate rejection. That it burns like hellfire. This wasn’t that. Not even close. And yet, it almost felt like it, like I was being broken over a wheel.

"Alright," I whispered weakly.

Winter nodded. "You’ll be under Manager Lorens’ supervision. He’ll make sure you’re properly onboarded."

For a moment, we just stared at each other—an odd, involuntary pause.

I lowered my gaze to his lips again. A crazy move in this situation, really. But they were just so… different. The soft outline, the fullness, the plushness that seemed out of place. They should have been sharp, thin, as cold as the rest of him. But they had a sweetness to them, something that didn’t belong.

Of course, this time, I made sure my face didn’t give anything away. But the image of that strange kiss kept creeping back into my mind. I’d even given it a name.

A kiss with the enemy.

Because wasn’t that exactly what he was?

This dude fought hard against my hiring. Against my father, the powerful CEO. That kind of hatred must have run deep, giving him the kind of reckless courage, even if it could cost him his position.

I’ve always respected people with fearlessness because it was the complete opposite of me. A coward. My second name.

The sound of soft knocking interrupted my brooding.

It was Manager Lorens.

***