Chapter One: Ice Queen
"I think I'm falling in love with you, Kim."
The words hung in the air like cheap cologne—desperate, irritating, and completely unwanted.
Kimberley Monroe blinked. Then laughed. Not a soft, bashful laugh. No, it was the kind of laugh that sliced through pride like a scalpel. Elegant. Precise. Deadly.
She stood in her penthouse living room, glass walls revealing the glittering skyline of the city. Her silk robe hugged her figure as she stepped forward, unbothered by the half-naked man on her Italian leather couch.
"Nathan," she said smoothly, like tasting a wine she didn't order, "you're still here?"
Nathan blinked, clearly stunned. "I thought we could talk. Maybe… spend the day together?"
Kim tilted her head. "Why would we do that?"
"Because I thought we had something real," he said, standing now, his voice desperate. "The way you kissed me last night—"
"Was sex," she interrupted, coolly. "You weren't special, Nathan. You were available."
The hurt in his eyes was almost amusing.
"Don't look at me like that," she said, walking toward her kitchen counter to pour herself a fresh glass of Cabernet. "I made no promises. You were a one-night escape from boredom, not a chapter in my life story."
He stood there, bare chest rising and falling with confusion. "But I told you I love you."
Kim turned, wine glass in hand, her voice dripping with disinterest. "And I told you to get the fuck out of my house."
That did it. His jaw clenched as he snatched his shirt off the couch and shoved his shoes into his hands. "You're cold."
"Ice Queen," she said proudly. "Remember the title on your way out."
He muttered something under his breath as the elevator doors swallowed him whole.
Kim exhaled in relief and took a sip of her wine.
Another disaster averted.
She didn't do love. She didn't do mornings-after. And she especially didn't entertain broke men thinking a good night meant a future. Nathan was lucky she even remembered his name.
Her phone buzzed.
Caramel: "Tell me you finally dumped last night's charity case 🙄"
Kim smirked and texted back: "He confessed his love. I nearly died."
Caramel: "LMFAO. Ice Queen strikes again. Lunch at twelve?"
Kim: "Make it one. I need to erase his scent from my couch."
Kimberley Monroe, CEO of Monroe Designs, didn't waste time with nonsense. She had an empire to run, employees who feared her, and shareholders who respected her. Love? That was for weak people with daddy issues and too much free time.
Her intercom buzzed.
"Yes?" she answered, pressing the sleek button beside her wine rack.
"Ms. Monroe, your car is ready downstairs," her assistant chirped.
"Tell him to wait," Kim replied, walking to her bedroom.
Her robe slid off her shoulders as she disappeared into her closet—a luxurious space larger than most apartments. Rows of designer heels, silks, leather jackets, and perfume bottles lined the walls like a fashion museum.
Today's look: power in black. Cropped blazer. Fitted trousers. Red-bottomed heels. And a hint of Chanel No. 5.
By the time she returned, her world was exactly as it should be—perfect, polished, and void of emotional clutter.
She stepped into her private elevator, ignoring the city below.
Her time would come. Her schedule was full. And the next man in her life?
Well, he wouldn't be falling in love. Not with her.
Not if she had anything to say about it.