His frozen obsession

chapter 1

Elara pov

I always knew alphas were cold. I didn't know he would be as cold as my own father until now.

The words hung in the sterile, air-conditioned air of the penthouse, silent and damning. They were my truth, finally acknowledged in the deepest part of my soul. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the city lights glitter like a bed of scattered diamonds, a world of life and warmth that felt a million miles away. My reflection in the glass was a ghost—pale, dressed in a white silk nightgown that was meant for a bride, my hands resting limply on my still-flat stomach.

One month. It had been one month since the binding ceremony that sold me to Ash Blackwood, Alpha, of the most powerful pack on the eastern seaboard. The deal was brokered by my father, of course. The Ashworth line was old and prestigious, but crumbling, our wealth and influence leach away like sand through a sieve. The Blackwood Pack was new money, brutal efficiency, and raw power. They needed the legitimacy our name provided. We needed their money.

And I was the price.

“An heir, Elara,” my father had said, his voice devoid of any warmth, his alpha aura pressing down on me until I wanted to vomit. “You will give him an heir. It’s the only value you have left. Don’t disappoint me.”

I had hoped, foolishly, desperately, that Ash would be different. He wasn’t cruel. He was… nothing. A beautifully carved statue of ice. He provided for me in every material way—this penthouse, the clothes, the security. But he never touched me outside of the act required to fulfill our contract. He never spoke to me beyond necessary civilities. His gaze, the color of a winter storm, would slide over me as if I were a piece of furniture.

My cycle was late. By three days. A fragile, terrifying hope had begun to bloom in my chest. Maybe it had happened. Maybe the ordeal was almost over. Maybe, just maybe, once I carried his child, some of that ice would thaw.

That hope died tonight.

The soft chime of the elevator announced his return. I didn’t turn. I heard his footsteps, measured and firm, on the polished marble floor. He stopped somewhere behind me. I could feel his presence, a low, thrumming power that made the air hum.

“Elara.”

His voice was like the rest of him—deep, controlled, and cold.

I took a steadying breath, my hope making me brave. “Ash” I finally turned to face him.

He was still in his suit, the dark fabric making his sharp features and pale eyes even more severe. He looked every inch, the ruthless CEO, the untouchable Alpha. In his hand, he held a small, discreet paper bag from a pharmacy.

“Your temperature chart indicates a high probability,” he said, his tone as clinical as a doctor’s. He placed the bag on the glass coffee table between us. “I took the liberty. We need confirmation.”

My heart, that foolish, hopeful thing, shattered. There was no concern in his voice. No shared anxiety. No warmth. There was only the cold, hard need for data. For confirmation of an asset.

This was the moment. The “until now.” My father saw me as a bargaining chip. Kaelen saw me as a breeding vessel. There was no difference. The cold was the same.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Showing emotion in front of an alpha was a sign of weakness. I had learned that lesson at my father’s knee.

“Of course,” I said, my voice miraculously steady. I walked to the table and picked up the bag. It felt heavy, filled with the weight of my extinguished future.