A Frozen Man's Sun

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The lights were blinding, hot enough to bake skin. Sweat prickled across my forehead and down the curve of my spine.

"Someone max the air—conditioning! Ice is sweating," Manager Ris barked from behind the monitors.

Reina hurried to the controls, twisting the knob until the cool rush of air flooded the studio. I lowered myself onto a chair at the edge of the set and exhaled heavily, rolling my shoulders back.

"Ice."

I turned. Flemeral was there, holding out a bottle of water. Her expression was steady, unreadable, though her eyes softened when they landed on me.

I took the bottle, twisted the cap, and downed it in one long pull. Cold relief slid down my throat. "Thanks," I muttered, standing again and walking back to the lights.

The camera shifted into place. Flemeral raised it, her finger hovering near the shutter. She was my photographer now. The Tagaytay shots must have impressed Manager Ris, because she'd been assigned this project outright. I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

"Ice, put your hand in your hair," she instructed.

I obliged, raking my fingers back through the white strands.

"Not like that." Her sigh was sharp. "Make it sexy. That looked like a bored kid fixing his part. I want women to look at this and stop breathing."

I smirked faintly. "They already stare, even if I slouch. If you're going to give instructions, be specific."

Her lips pressed tight. "Fine. Just do it again."

I bent forward slightly, hand tangled in my hair, and locked my gaze on the camera. The smirk came naturally. The shutter clicked in rapid bursts, light flashing against my bare skin.

After a while, Manager Ris excused himself to take a call. Assistants streamed in, dragging a table and props onto the set.

"Change your shirt," Flemeral said, her voice low but firm. She held out a maroon button—down she'd taken from my bag. "It's soaked through. Your back muscles are practically on display."

I pulled the wet shirt over my head without hesitation, and for a split second, silence wrapped the room. Reina had stilled, her eyes fixed too long on me, her cheeks blooming red.

I frowned, tugged the new shirt on, and buttoned it briskly.

By the time the set was ready, it resembled a polished living room. The centerpiece was a bottle of deep-red grape wine, a brand owned by the wealthy Fuenteza family.

"We're promoting their product," Flemeral explained, handing me both the wine and a glass. "Simple, realistic. Blend into the ambience. Open the bottle, pour it, drink it. Let the lens catch everything. The wine should shine through you."

I nodded and leaned against the table, the bottle in one hand. The cork twisted free with a pop, the rich scent of grapes filling the air. I poured slowly, watching the crimson liquid curl into the glass, then lifted it to my lips.

The flash went off in staccato bursts.

"Perfect," she murmured, snapping shot after shot. "Acting suits you more than modeling." Her tone lightened, though the edge quickly returned. "But we still need to fix your smile."

"My smile isn't broken," I said flatly.

Hours blurred together—pose, click, adjust, repeat. When the last series of shots were done, she stepped aside to review the laptop with the operators. Her expression shifted from focused concentration to quiet satisfaction.

I used the moment to duck into the restroom. Cold water splashed against my face, cooling the heat of the studio lights. By the time I returned, the set was being dismantled. I gathered my things.

"Where's Flemeral?" I asked.

"She went outside," Reina said with a polite smile.

My brows furrowed. I stepped out of the studio into the bright sting of the parking lot.

She wasn't alone.

From a distance, I saw her talking to Aisaia. My chest tightened instantly. I moved quietly to the side of my car, crouching low, half-shielded by its frame.

"What are you doing here?" Flemeral asked.

"I heard you were working nearby," Aisaia replied smoothly. He held out a plastic cup. "I brought you iced coffee."

Her hand lifted, hesitant at first, then she accepted the drink with a smile.

Something flickered in his eyes—a gleam I knew too well. My pulse spiked. Not again.

The last time he handed her a drink, it was laced. The memory burned in my mind-her slurred words, her skin hot against mine, her body betraying her under the weight of poison. She'd accused me of drugging her. But it had been him. Always him.

Now she was holding another of his offerings.

"Thanks, Aisaia," she said softly.

"Go on, drink." His voice pushed, too eager.

Don't. My fists clenched. My whole body screamed to step out, to rip the cup from her hands, to slam it into the asphalt. But what right did I have? She hadn't listened before. If I interfered again, she'd think I was controlling her.

She lifted the cup.

Don't drink it.

She sipped.

My jaw tightened until it ached.

"It tastes... different," she murmured after a beat, smiling wider. "But good."

Seconds later, she yawned, her shoulders drooping.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Aisaia asked, already moving closer.

"Yes," she admitted softly. "I'm getting sleepy."

His grin widened. He slid an arm around her and guided her toward his car. She stumbled slightly but let him lead. He opened the passenger door, helped her in, then climbed behind the wheel himself.

I shoved myself into my car, keys twisting hard in the ignition. As his car rolled out of the lot, I pulled into gear and tailed him at a distance.

"She never learns," I muttered, heat surging in my veins.

The roads blurred past, but he was fast, reckless. A sudden red light forced me to slam the brakes. Horns blared around me. His car vanished ahead as traffic boxed me in.

"Damn it!" I slammed my fist against the steering wheel, fury rattling my bones. Every second I sat there was another second she was in his hands.

The light finally shifted. Tires screeched as I pushed the accelerator to the floor. One hand fumbled for my phone, swiping to the GPS tracker. A blinking dot appeared-her phone, still moving.

I followed.

My teeth ground together as I sped down the road, weaving through traffic. "If he touches her—if he tries anything—I'll end him."

The engine roared louder. My eyes locked on the blinking dot.

This wasn't just a chase anymore. It was war.