Chapter 2 Ice and Fire
At the centre of the garden, near the fountain, a small gathering had formed.
Two older men, both in casual clothes, sat playing chess. Renan de Valois, my grandfather, and Caspar Grimaldi, his oldest friend, engaged in their usual battle of wits. Laughter rang through the air—deep, amused, the sound of two men who had seen the world and still found joy in something as simple as a game.
Three younger spectators stood nearby.
Two girls, both in elegant summer dresses, looking effortlessly pretty in the way that rich girls always did. But the real showstopper wasn’t them. It was the one standing beside them.
Leander.
He wasn’t a boy anymore, technically speaking. Nineteen now. But somehow, he still looked untouched by time.
His dark hair, just long enough to brush his ears, caught the sunlight in a way that made it look ridiculously soft. His skin—unfairly flawless—had a glow that suggested he either bathed in liquid moonlight or had never encountered a single environmental toxin in his life. Those eyes—big, clear, absurdly pure—remained the same, too, reflecting everything and nothing all at once.
And that mouth—a soft, barely-there smile curving full lips that looked like they belonged on some Renaissance painting of an angel.
He was wearing a cream-coloured shirt and black trousers—simple, effortless, devastating. Because of course he was.
I didn’t even realise I’d stopped walking until my grandfather’s voice pulled me back to reality.
‘I have to ask, Caspar, how the hell are you still smiling when you’re clearly losing?’ Renan mused, moving a piece across the board with the smooth confidence of a man who had never lost a game in his entire life.
Caspar chuckled, his sharp, eagle-like eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘Last time we played, by the time I lost seven pieces, you had only lost three. Now I’ve lost seven, but you’ve lost five.’ He leaned back, smug. ‘I call that progress.’
Renan smirked. ‘You’re still going to lose.’
‘But less embarrassingly,’ Caspar countered, looking pleased with himself.
And then—
‘Anne’s back!’ one of the girls announced.
All eyes turned towards me.
I knew what they saw.
A perfectly tailored black suit that hugged my body in all the right places—impeccably sleek, effortlessly powerful. My dark hair caught in the breeze, the longer strands falling just enough to shadow one of my eyes, lending me an air of deliberate mystery. The other eye, sharp and unwavering, took in the scene before me like I owned it.
Because I did.
Strong nose, sculpted cheekbones, full lips that didn’t need to smile to command attention. A body that wasn’t overtly muscular but carried a kind of contained power—like a blade resting in its sheath, waiting.
Annelise de Valois. Business prodigy. Financial queen. The undisputed power player of the industry.
And, apparently, the subject of Caspar Grimaldi’s admiration.
‘Anne,’ he said, openly impressed, with just a touch of envy. ‘She’s got presence. Grows more impressive every time I see her.’
A sigh.
‘What a shame she wasn’t born into our family.’
Renan nodded with the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he’d won the genetic lottery. ‘Of course. Anne excels in everything. She’s the greatest pride of my life.’
‘Yeah, yeah, so great,’ a female voice cut in, full of dramatic exaggeration. ‘Except she used to be cute. Now? Not even a little. She’s all serious-faced, never smiles, and doesn’t even bother with me, her own sister.’
The voice belonged to Linnea de Valois, my very opinionated younger sister. She tossed her shoulder-length hair back and tucked a strand behind her ear, revealing a face that—annoyingly—looked a lot like mine.
Renan chuckled. ‘Maybe because you’re always dragging Anne out to shop for clothes? She’s busy. You think she’s got time to be your personal stylist?’
‘Ugh, it was one time! One!’ Linnea stomped her foot like an overdramatic stage actress. ‘Do you have to bring it up every time this topic comes up, Grandpa? I never asked her to shop with me again after that!’
‘Oh, right. After that, you switched to dragging her out for makeup shopping instead.’
Linnea gasped, offended. ‘Grandpa, just say you’re biased and get it over with!’ With a huff, she turned her head away in a show of mock outrage.
‘You need to take a page out of Mireille and Leander’s book. Look at them—so calm, so polite, just sitting there quietly.’ Renan gestured at the Grimaldi siblings, who had been quietly minding their own business this whole time.
Linnea shot me a look. ‘That’s because both Mireille and Leander are quiet by nature. Our dear Anne, on the other, is just cold as ice. If I weren’t around to liven things up, our family would be one step away from being a crypt!’ She threw an arm around Mireille’s, looking for backup.
Renan chuckled and tapped Linnea’s forehead lightly. ‘You always have an answer for everything.’ He said it like a complaint, but there was warmth in his voice.
And he wasn’t wrong. Our family did need someone like Linnea—someone lively, someone loud, someone who could keep the house from feeling too stiff. I was many things, but chatty wasn’t one of them. I rarely spoke much in public, and even at home, I only responded when necessary.
Not that I used to be this way.
According to Grandpa Renan, I was different as a kid. Talkative. Playful. But somewhere along the way, that part of me faded.
I pushed the thought away as I reached the two older men. ‘Grandpa. Mr Grimaldi.’ I greeted them with the perfect balance of warmth and respect.
My gaze flickered, just for a second, toward the person I had really been looking for.
I had already spotted him earlier, confirmed what I suspected—he hadn’t changed. He still had that beautiful, bright smile. Still had those eyes, so clear they made you feel like you could see straight into his soul. The kind of gaze that pulled you in, that made you want to get closer.
But not here.