A Frozen Man's Sun

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The ceiling had become my canvas again—blank, cold, and mercilessly still. My mind was drifting, chewing on silence, when my phone burst to life.

I grabbed it quickly, squinting at the screen. Kuya Cloud.

I sighed and answered. "Why are you calling, Kuya?"

"I heard you used my baby? Damn you, Ice! You know I don't let anyone use my babies!"

I rubbed my temple. "You mean your car? Uh-huh. Well, I have a good excuse, Kuya. And if that's the only reason you bothered to call me, wow. Great reason." My tone dripped sarcasm.

Cloud laughed like he always did, careless and light. "Of course not, li'l bro. I also called to check on you. So... how are you?"

"I'm fine," I muttered. "How about you? Hopefully you've realized by now you're at the right age to take over Dad's business. Shouldn't you be running it already?"

That earned me his scoff. I could almost see him rolling his eyes on the other end. "Fuck off, bro. I still have one year before Dad hands it over. Then we'll split responsibilities—you know the deal."

"Sure." I leaned back, eyes flicking at the shadows in my room. "So where are you this time?"

"Alta Rio. I have a feeling I'll find her here." His tone sharpened-conviction bleeding through.

I shook my head. He was still chasing her. The girl who ran. The girl who liked the game more than the prize. "You've been searching for her for almost a year, Kuya. What if she doesn't want to be found? You should stop. There are plenty of other women out there."

"She's the only one," he said firmly. "The only woman to me. Anyway—bye, bro. Tell Mom and Dad I miss them."

And he hung up, just like that.

I let out a long breath and closed my eyes, trying to sink back into the stillness. But before I could, my bedroom door slammed open.

"Ice Apolonio de Mayor!"

I shot up. Standing there was Eral—Flemeral Lenessia—glowing in a formal dress, a smile plastered across her lips like she already knew I'd give in.

"Please drive me to St. Paul Cathedral!"

I frowned. "For what?"

"I was hired as one of the wedding photographers," she rushed out. "The church is far, taxis are expensive, the commute is hell, and by the time I get there, the wedding might be over. Please drive me."

"I'm not your driver, Eral." My scowl deepened.

"Obviously not. Not unless you want me to hire you." She leaned on the doorframe, eyes gleaming. "Pretty please?"

She waltzed inside my room without permission, her perfume cutting through the air, sharp and sweet.

"Just buy your own car," I muttered.

"I already have one. I just left it in Vancouver." She smiled. "Or you could let me borrow yours if you don't want to drive me."

A chill ran down my spine as a memory struck-her destroying Aisaia's Bugatti like it was scrap metal. No way. Not with my car.

"No thanks."

"Ice, go drive Flemeral. Is that how a gentleman acts?" My father's voice cut in suddenly, stern and amused at once.

I exhaled sharply. "I'm tired."

Dad's gaze shifted, sharp as a knife. "Wait. What happened to your lips?" He stepped closer, studying the split on my mouth. "You got into a fight, didn't you?"

My throat tightened. Dad hated violence—hated when either of his sons came home bruised.

Before I could answer, Eral swooped in, feigning innocence. "Actually, Tito, he did get into a fight..." She smirked at me while Dad narrowed his eyes. "...but he fought to save me."

Her smile turned sly, triumphant.

And just like that, Dad's anger melted. He nodded, clapped my shoulder. "A fight for a good cause. Well done, son." Then he bent low, whispered: "Get changed. You don't want to drive Flemeral wearing only your boxers."

He left us alone.

Only then did I glance down and realize—yeah, boxers. Nothing else. Funny thing was, I didn't care. I wasn't uncomfortable in front of her. Not anymore. Maybe because intimacy had already erased the barrier between us. With no attachments. No strings.

"I'll get dressed."

She nodded, eyes lingering a second too long. I stepped into the walk-in closet and pulled on a dark green three—quarter shirt and fitted pants.

When I came back out, I caught her sprawled across my bed, face buried in my pillow.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm breathing your scent..." she sighed dreamily, only to snap upright, cheeks flushed when she realized I'd caught her. "I-I mean... I was sleepy!"

I stalked closer, smirk tugging at my lips. "Really? You know you're a bad liar, right?" My voice dipped low, husky.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "L—Let's go." She darted past me out the door.

I followed, still smirking.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The drive was quiet, only the hum of the engine filling the space. Every so often I caught myself glancing at her—her posture stiff, her eyes glued to the window. She didn't speak, and I didn't push. That was our rhythm: silence sharp enough to cut.

An hour later, we reached the cathedral. The place buzzed with life—groomsmen straightening ties, bridesmaids fixing hair, children darting underfoot with flower baskets. The bride was late, which meant the ceremony hadn't started yet.

I parked in the far corner. Eral grabbed her camera and a spare lens.

"You can come inside with me," she offered.

"I'd rather wait here."

"Oh, come on. You'll just get bored. Inside, at least, you'll get to swoon over the wedding."

I scoffed but followed anyway.

We slipped through the side entrance, the main doors still locked. The groom stood at the altar, nerves etched in every movement. Guests filled the pews, murmuring in hushed tones, anticipation building like static.

"Wait here," Eral told me, leaving some of her gear by my side. I sat down on the last pew, half-hidden in shadow. She joined the other photographers near the aisle.

Moments later, the great doors creaked open. Music swelled, flooding the cathedral. The procession began—pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen gliding forward. The flower girls scattering white petals. The ring bearer clutching a velvet pillow like his life depended on it.

And then she appeared.

The bride.

My brow furrowed, a chill running through me.

Beneath the veil, the face was too familiar. Too sharp, too burned into my memory. My lungs constricted as recognition struck like a blade.

I shot to my feet, breath harsh in my chest.

It was her.

Lessandra.

Memories rushed in, savage and unrelenting—the curve of her smile as she lied, the way she whispered promises that died before morning, the day I learned she was carrying a child that wasn't mine. Not even this groom's. But Aisaia's cousin's.

And now she walked down the aisle in white. A saint's disguise for a sinner's heart.

My fists clenched until my knuckles cracked.

What a woman.

I forced air into my lungs, but it came out jagged, hot.

Damn that woman.

Lessandra.