SHADOWLESS LOVE

The garden was still, its beauty deceptive against the tension thickening between us. The air was sweet with the scent of blooming roses, yet beneath it lingered something darker, more primal. Ivelle's eyes, those striking blue pools of unreadable depth, fixed on mine with unrelenting intensity. The soft murmur of the fountain in the distance felt muted, as though the world itself held its breath for what was about to unfold.

"Do you expect me to act as your son's mother?" She broke the silence, her voice steady and clear, like the crack of a whip in the quiet night. Her gaze bore into me, demanding an answer I wasn't sure I had the authority to give.

I shook my head slowly, the weight of the question pressing down on me. "I never expected that. Expecting you to treat my son like your own or to win his heart at any cost doesn't sit right with me." My voice was calm and deliberate, but the words carried a gravity that made her eyes narrow slightly. She was testing me, and I'd be damned if I failed.

Her expression didn't waver, but I could see the gears turning behind her cool exterior. I leaned forward, letting the table's edge press into my palms as I tried to close the unbridgeable distance between us. "I just expect one thing from you."

Her gaze didn't falter, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. "Don't hurt that child. If you dislike him, draw a clear line. If you love him, let him know. But don't give him false hope. Not him."

The calm in my voice was deceptive, masking the storm brewing beneath. She parted her lips to speak, then closed them again, swallowing whatever regret had risen. For all her unflinching poise, I could see it—the brief crack in her armor. Ivelle Ivanova was a mystery I couldn't unravel, her face an enigma of serene detachment. Even when she faltered, she regained her composure almost instantly. It was maddening.

"I won't bring the child into the middle of anything," she said finally, her words absolute yet foolishly optimistic. There was something almost endearing about her assurance, but it was her resemblance to Erika that gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

I rubbed my palms together and leaned closer to the table, a smirk curling my lips. "So, shall we dig into the prospective proposal the Princess has for me?"

Her expression hardened, her voice colder than the winter air. "I am no princess."

I gasped dramatically, letting a teasing lilt seep into my voice. "Why? Do you perhaps..." I leaned in further, invading her space, leaving only a breath of air between us. Her eyes widened, caught between shock and irritation, but she didn't move. She couldn't. I had already stepped into her territory, uninvited but unyielding.

"Do you want to be the queen?"

My voice dropped into something darker, more tempting. Her eyes sparked at the word—a flicker of emotion she couldn't hide. She licked her lips, a small, unconscious motion that sent a surge of something electric through me. She was trying to avoid my gaze, but her silence betrayed her. It was all the answer I needed.

"So, you want to be a queen," I said, my tone teasing but laced with understanding. She clenched her jaw, her composure cracking further as she finally met my gaze head-on. There was a strange madness in her eyes—a malice tempered by something far more profound. Ambition. Desire. A longing that transcended power.

"What if I want to be a queen?" She whispered, her voice melodic but cold, like frost on a rose. "What if I want to rule over Helheim?"

The determination in her voice sent a shiver down my spine, a sensation I hadn't felt in years. It wasn't just ambition; it was need, raw and unrelenting. Her words ignited something within me—a fire I hadn't realized I'd been craving. She was unlike anyone I'd ever met, and the realization hit me with the force of a hurricane.

"In that case," I said, my voice softer now but no less commanding. Without breaking our gaze, I reached into my pocket and retrieved the ring. It glimmered in the moonlight, a red diamond in an emerald cut, its facets catching the light like a thousand tiny fires. The band was platinum, etched with intricate patterns that told the history of the Valentino lineage. This wasn't just a ring; it was a symbol, a declaration, a crown in its own right.

I took her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger with deliberate slowness. Her eyes widened in shock, her breath hitching audibly as the weight of the moment settled over her.

"I will gladly welcome you as my wife, Princess," I said, my voice a mixture of amusement and sincerity.

She looked down at the ring, her composure finally shattering. "This... this is the ring given to the Mistress of Valentino, isn't it?" She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I am the Master of Valentino," I replied, grinning. "Isn't it natural that my wife would be the mistress?"

Her shock was palpable, her usual cold facade crumbling under the weight of my words. She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off.

"You haven't even told me why you want to marry me, what you can offer, or what you desire. How can you just..."

"Because," I interrupted, lifting her chin to meet my gaze again. Her eyes trembled slightly, betraying the storm within. "I need someone who can match my boundless ambition, someone calculative and smart enough to hide her emotions behind a perfect facade."

I let my thumb brush against her jawline, the contact sending a jolt through both of us. "And you, Ivelle Ivanova, are perfect for that."

Her breath hitched again, and for the first time, she seemed at a loss for words. The garden around us felt like an extension of our tension; the flowers' vibrant hues muted under the shadow of our unspoken pact. The air buzzed with energy, an invisible current that bound us together in that moment. And as her lips parted to speak, I knew one thing for certain—Ivelle wasn't just seeking power. She was seeking something far greater, something only we could build together.

Her face turned cold again as she said, "What if I want to have your child and make them the future head of Valentino?"

I blinked. Twice. Then chuckled, leaning back slightly. Her brain must run on a completely different operating system.

"A child?" I asked, tilting my head. "Not that I've ever planned on, you know, getting physical with anyone again. I thought you wanted a simple contract marriage, not... a Netflix family drama."

Her shoulders stiffened, but she tried to mask it with a deep breath. Brave effort, but I noticed.

"What if I want to do so?" She challenged, her voice tinged with desperation. "Would you be okay with your beloved son's position being threatened by someone else?"

I frowned. "You're acting like the child wouldn't be mine. What, is there a new trend of erasing the father's name during—" I paused for dramatic effect, "—baby-making?"

Her eyes widened, her cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries, and I swear she nearly dropped her file. Ah, there it is—her 'flustered and cute' mode.

"That's not what I meant!" she squeaked, sitting back and fanning herself with the nearest folder. "It's… it's just really hot in here!"

Hot? At sixteen degrees Celsius? Sure, princess-

"You're feeling hot because you brought up babies, and now you can't handle the mental image, can you?" I smirked. "Unless, of course, you were planning to outsource the baby-making through medical technology. Should I start researching clinics?"

Her hands flew up to cover her face with the folder, as if that could shield her from my teasing. "Why don't we talk about something else?" She mumbled from behind the paper shield, her voice a mix of embarrassment and stubbornness.

I leaned in slightly, resting my chin on my hand. "Why should we? You brought up the topic, after all. Wasn't this part of your cold and calculated plan to secure your spot as my wife?"

"That's not—ugh, never mind!" She groaned, dropping the folder onto the table. "You're insufferable!"

"And yet you want to have my child. Interesting." I nodded, acting as if I were honored by her remark.

She shot me a glare, her so-called icy demeanor melting into visible frustration. "You're twisting my words!"

I feigned shock, placing a hand on my chest. "Me? Twisting words? Never. I'm just repeating what you said. Princess."

Her hands balled into fists, and she looked like she was debating whether to yell or just storm out. Instead, she muttered under her breath, "Why did I think this was a good idea?"

"Because I'm rich, devastatingly handsome, and your best shot at Valentino." I grinned, enjoying her reaction.

"More like annoying, overly smug, and..." She trailed off, struggling to find a suitable insult.

"Go on," I urged, leaning even closer. "This is fun. Don't stop now."

She scowled, the glare on her face completely at odds with her pink cheeks. "Forget it. Talking to you is like arguing with a fat cow."

"And yet, you keep talking. Should I take that as a compliment?"

Her groan echoed through the greenhouse, and she grabbed her file again, holding it in front of her face. "I can't with you! You're impossible!"

I chuckled, leaning back and crossing my arms. "Admit it. You'd be bored without me."

Peeking over the edge of the folder, she shot me a look. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh, I don't need to. You do it for me. You're already thinking about our hypothetical child, after all."

"I hate you." Her voice was muffled, but the way her lips twitched betrayed her.

"And yet," I said, smirking, "here you are."

Her reaction reminded me of days which I cherished more than my entire existence—that annoyed frown, pissed, and desperate effort to make me feel bad.

You are not her, I tell myself.

Yet, I am trying to find her in you.