Chapter 3: Melting the Ice

Evan seemed to sense something was wrong.

His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, I saw a crack in his perfect composure. He reached out, gentle but unyielding.

His palm was cool and steady, and for a second, I wanted to lean into it like a cat in a sunbeam. The temperature difference sent a shiver down my spine. It was the first real relief I’d felt all night.

"What’s wrong? You’re burning up—are you sick?"

He was careful, his tone shifting just enough to show concern, even though he tried to hide it.

His cold voice softened, laced with a concern he tried to hide.

For the first time, I heard something almost vulnerable in his words. It made my chest ache.

He was so close.

I could count the freckles on his cheeks, the way his lashes cast shadows under his eyes. I was hyperaware of every heartbeat.

The scent of his aftershave filled my senses, making me dizzy.

My body leaned toward him of its own accord, searching for coolness, for comfort, for something I couldn’t name.

My heart pounded wildly. I was so lightheaded I could barely stand.

My knees wobbled, and I clung to the doorframe, trying to keep upright.

My legs gave out. Instinctively, I grabbed his cold, slender fingers.

I squeezed his hand, desperate. The contrast between my fevered skin and his cool touch sent sparks shooting through my nerves.

My voice trembled, so soft it was almost lost: "E... Evan..." I sobbed, unable to hold back.

My voice cracked, breaking the silence between us. I buried my face in his shoulder, hot tears wetting his sleeve.

The man I clung to stiffened, but did not pull away. He let me hold him, my fingers gripping his tightly.

He stood still, letting me anchor myself to him, his free hand hovering awkwardly at my waist as if unsure whether to comfort me or keep his distance.

"I feel awful... Please help me."

I looked up, my eyes pleading. The words hung between us, heavy with meaning.

"I want... to..."

I wanted to finish the sentence, but embarrassment made me swallow it. Instead, I let the desperation show in my eyes.

I wanted him to hold me, to cool my burning lips with his own.

The urge was overwhelming. I bit my lip, searching his face for permission.

The chat bubbles flashed:

[Girl really takes advice. No wonder she gets what she wants.]

[Everyone, look at Mr. Iceberg’s ears—they’re so red I’m going blind! One hand’s holding her, the other’s free—aren’t you going to do something?]

I almost snorted, despite everything. I stole a glance at Evan’s face.

Reminded by the comments, I glanced at Evan’s ears. His soft earlobes were flushed, like rose quartz.

A delicate pink crept up his neck, betraying him. It was the only sign he was rattled at all.

He was far from as calm as he appeared.

The realization sent a thrill through me. For once, I’d broken his mask.

Evan bent down, his pale lips nearing mine. If I tilted my head, I could catch those thin lips.

Time slowed. My breath hitched. His lips were close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

His other hand gripped my waist, pulling me closer as though restraining me.

The gesture was protective—maybe even possessive. I wanted more.

His fingertips brushed my lips.

I shivered, nerves jangling. I was caught between wanting to hide and wanting to throw myself into him completely.

"Good Melissa..." he murmured softly. "Tell me clearly—how do you want me to help you?"

His voice was lower now, rough with emotion. The sound of my name on his lips made me shudder.