Chapter 3: Ice and Fire
1207words
"Maybe he's shy," Mia suggested.
"He's not shy. He's avoiding me." I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. "I tried to join him for breakfast yesterday, and Finnegan politely informed me that 'Mr. Blackwood takes his meals in his study.' It's like living with a ghost."
"Have you tried breaking into his study?"
I paused mid-pace. "No, but I like how you think."
"I was joking!"
"I wasn't." I flopped onto the enormous bed. "I'm supposed to marry him tomorrow, and I know nothing about him except he used to ski and now he scowls professionally."
"I found a trophy room yesterday. Hidden away in the east wing. In one photo, he's standing on what looks like Everest, laughing into the camera. He looks... alive."
"There was one photo of him with another man. They looked alike—same blue eyes, same jawline. The frame was turned face-down, like someone couldn't bear to look at it but couldn't put it away either."
I eventually found Finnegan in the kitchen, preparing what looked like a tray for Thorne.
"Does he ever leave his study?" I asked, accepting the cup of coffee Finnegan offered me.
Finnegan hesitated, his kind eyes troubled. "Mr. Blackwood prefers his routine."
"His routine of pretending I don't exist?"
Finnegan's professional mask slipped slightly. "Mr. Blackwood wasn't always like this. Before the accident, he was... different."
"What happened to him, Finnegan? Really happened?"
"The avalanche trapped him for hours. When they found him, his spine was damaged. The doctors said he'd never walk again." Finnegan's voice remained professional, but his eyes held a deep sadness.
"That's terrible, but it doesn't explain why he's so..."
"Bitter?" Finnegan sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "He wasn't alone on that mountain."
My coffee suddenly tasted bitter in my mouth. The mug felt heavy in my hands as understanding began to dawn. The face-down photograph. The empty rooms. The silence that filled this massive house. "Who was with him?"
"His younger brother, Caleb. They were inseparable. Caleb didn't survive." Each word fell like a stone, and I could see how much it cost Finnegan to speak of it—this wound that had never healed for any of them.
"Oh my God." I thought of how Thorne had looked at me during our first meeting—not with disinterest, but with something closer to fear. Was he afraid of connecting with anyone after such loss? "That's... I had no idea."
"Mr. Blackwood doesn't talk about it. Ever."
"And there's more. After the accident, his family—"
The sound of wheels on hardwood made us both freeze. Thorne stopped in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he saw me.
"I see you've met our guest," he said coldly.
That night, unable to sleep, I found myself wandering the dark halls again. A sliver of light from under a door caught my attention.
I pushed the door open quietly and froze. It was a state-of-the-art gym. And in the center, gripping parallel bars, was Thorne, attempting to stand.
His face was contorted with effort, sweat beading on his forehead. His powerful arms trembled as he tried to force his legs to support his weight.
Then his legs buckled. He fell, cursing viciously as he hit the mat.
Without thinking, I rushed forward. "Are you okay?" The words escaped before I could stop them, breaking the private moment I'd intruded upon.
Thorne's head snapped up, his eyes widening in shock, then narrowing in fury. "What are you doing here?" His voice was low, dangerous, laced with humiliation at being caught in such a position.
"I couldn't sleep. I saw the light." I knelt beside him, close enough to smell his sweat and something distinctly masculine. His breathing was still labored, chest rising and falling rapidly. This close, I could see the scars on his forearms, testament to the accident that had changed everything. "Let me help you."
"I don't need your help." He pushed my hands away.
"Clearly." I gestured to him sprawled on the floor. "This is going well for you."
For a moment, I thought he might throw me out. Instead, he laughed—a short, harsh sound, but a laugh nonetheless. It transformed his face, making him look younger.
After helping him back into his wheelchair, I asked, "How long have you been trying?" My hands lingered near the handles of his chair, not quite touching.
"Since the day I got home from the hospital. Three years, two months, sixteen days."
"Any progress?" I asked softly, afraid of the answer but needing to know.
"No." The word was clipped, final. But his hands gripped the wheels of his chair tightly, knuckles white with frustration.
"Then why keep trying?"
Thorne looked at me, really looked at me for the first time since we'd met. "Because the alternative is accepting that this is all I'll ever be. That I survived for... this."
"There's nothing wrong with who you are now."
"You don't know who I am."
"I know you're stubborn. Determined. I know you blame yourself for your brother's death. And I know you're pushing everyone away because you think you don't deserve happiness."
His face went completely still. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I challenged gently. "I recognize guilt when I see it, Thorne."
As I closed the door, I heard his phone ring. Curiosity got the better of me, and I lingered in the hallway.
"Blackwood," he answered sharply. Then his voice changed, hardening. "Kieran. What do you want?"
"Threatening me isn't wise, nephew. I may be in a wheelchair, but I'm still CEO."
"My personal life is none of your concern. The wedding proceeds as planned. Stay away from it, and stay away from her."
I hurried back to my room, mind racing. Thorne had a nephew who was challenging him at work? And why would this nephew care about our wedding?
The next morning, I stood in a simple white dress beside Thorne in his study. A justice of the peace read the standard vows while Finnegan and the housekeeper served as witnesses.
I noticed things now—the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles whitened on the armrests of his wheelchair when the justice mentioned "in sickness and in health."
"If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace," the justice said.
"I object," came a voice from the doorway.
I turned, and my heart stopped in my chest. Standing there, in an expensive suit with a cold smile that I remembered all too well, was a face from my past.
"Kieran?" I whispered, feeling the blood drain from my face. My fingers instinctively reached for Thorne's shoulder, seeking an anchor as my world tilted sideways.
"Hello, Lyra." His smile widened, predatory and smug, his eyes—the same piercing blue as Thorne's—moving from me to his uncle. That familiar gaze, once charming, now sent ice through my veins. "Surprised to see your ex-boyfriend at your wedding?"
