Chapter 11: The Ice King's Silence
The heavy iron gates creaked open, and the silver car pulled up to the grand entrance of the Malhotra mansion. Aman tried to kiss me goodbye, but I pulled away, my mind already halfway up the marble stairs. I felt like a traitor to the love I had cherished for years, but the hollow look in Advik's eyes was haunting me.
I found him exactly where I had left him—in the study. The only difference was the bottle of scotch was now empty, and the room was freezing. He had left the balcony doors wide open to the night air.
"I'm back," I said, my voice echoing in the dark.
Advik didn't turn around. He was standing by the balcony, his back a rigid, straight line against the city lights. "You're early. It's only three in the morning. Did your prince charming run out of poetry?"
"Advik, look at me." I walked toward him, stepping into his space. "Why are you doing this? All day, you've looked at me like I'm a ghost. You won't speak to me, you won't even look at me. Are you that angry?"
He finally turned, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying indifference. There was no anger. There was no jealousy. There was just... nothing.
"Angry? Why would I be angry, Ananya?" He spoke as if he were discussing the weather. "We have a contract. You are a guest in my home for three hundred and sixty-four more days. After that, you are free. What you do with your midnights until then is no longer my concern."
"Don't lie to me!" I stepped closer, my heart aching for a spark of the man who had burned for me. "You care. I know you do."
Advik let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, but for the first time, his proximity didn't make my skin sizzle. It felt like standing next to a glacier.
"I don't," he whispered. "The man who cared died in that washroom last night. This version of me? I don't care if you stay, I don't care if you go, and I certainly don't care who you spend your nights with. You're just a debt I'm waiting to settle."
The words cut deeper than any blade. I felt a sob rise in my throat. "I want us to be friends, Advik. If we have to spend a year together, let's at least be kind to each other. Please."
I reached out to touch his hand, hoping for a sliver of the warmth that used to ground me.
He flinched away, his eyes flashing with a brief, sharp disgust. "I don't need friends, Ananya. Especially not from people who are just passing through. Go to bed."
He brushed past me, his shoulder hitting mine with a cold, dismissive force. He didn't look back.
The Cold War
The following week was a living nightmare. I tried everything. I brought him coffee in the morning; he would leave it to grow cold without a word. I tried to talk to him about the news, about the garden, about anything. He would simply walk out of the room mid-sentence.
He stopped eating dinner with me. He stopped checking on me. He became a shadow in his own home, moving with a silent, icy efficiency.
Every time I tried to bridge the gap, he would shut me down with a single, emotionless stare that made me feel smaller than a grain of sand. He was punishing me, but not with violence—he was punishing me with his absence while standing right in front of me.
I was getting my freedom, just like I wanted. But as I sat in the vast, silent dining hall alone, I realized that Advik's hatred was easier to handle than his indifference.
Late one night, I passed the washroom in the master suite. I stopped, remembering the sound of the water from that night. I pushed the door open slightly and saw it.
The marble sink. The hairline cracks were still there.
He hadn't fixed it. It was a silent, broken monument to the night he had shattered. My heart twisted. He was pretending he didn't care, but the house was screaming his pain.