CHAPTER 238: FROST AND FRACTURE

After stepping through the gilded doors of the Frost mansion, Julies was led through halls that gleamed with cold luxury—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and portraits of ancestors who looked as if they’d never smiled a day in their lives.

And before long, he saw her.

His fiancée.

...Only on paper, of course.

Amelia Frost stood by the window, arms folded, the white light from the snow reflecting off her silver hair. She turned the moment he entered.

"Where is Alice?"

That was the first thing she said. Not a greeting. Not even a glance of courtesy. Just that one question.

Julies sighed inwardly. Of course.

"She couldn’t possibly come," he said, brushing off the frost from his coat. "She’s busy leading the troops."

"Tch." Amelia clicked her tongue, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I had some hope."

Her arms tightened across her chest, her expression sharpening into that familiar mix of frustration and longing that only one person in the world could cause—Alice Draken.

Julies found himself staring for a moment. There was something oddly amusing about the proud lady of the Frost family pouting like a sulking child.

Then again, this was Amelia.

As they sat across from each other in her private study, the atmosphere between them shifted the moment the door closed.

Outside, she had been the perfect noblewoman—graceful, composed, her voice honeyed with practiced courtesy.

Inside, she dropped the act completely.

—"Welcome, Julies. It’s your first time in the Frost Estate, isn’t it?" she said in a mockingly sweet tone. "As my fiancé, you deserve the best treatment. So please—make yourself comfortable."

Her sarcasm could’ve frozen the room faster than the snowstorm outside.

Julies didn’t even bother responding. He’d grown used to her sharp tongue long ago.

He leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. "So, when can I meet Count Frost?"

Straight to the point.

There was no time for small talk, not when Alice was already marching toward danger. Every second he lingered here was a second wasted.

Amelia gave a small, knowing smile. "You’re in quite a hurry. The demon invasion keeps him busier than me, but you’ll be able to meet him soon enough."

Something in her tone made him pause.

It was the way she said it—too casual, too smooth.

He narrowed his eyes. "...Soon enough?"

Amelia tilted her head, her lips curving in mild amusement. "My father is also very interested in you."

"In me?" Julies blinked. "Count Frost?"

She nodded, expression unreadable. "Yes. He’s heard about your connection to Lady Alice. And about your... rather creative methods of solving problems."

That didn’t make him feel any better.

There was no reason for a man like the Earl—one of the richest, most influential figures in the North—to take notice of a mere baron’s son like him.

Unless...

’Maybe it’s just a father’s concern for his daughter.’

Julies tried to convince himself of that, though it sounded hollow even in his own mind.

Amelia’s gaze lingered on him longer than necessary, her icy-blue eyes steady and unreadable. "He doesn’t usually bother meeting my suitors. You should feel honored."

Julies gave a low hum, pulling his coat tighter against the hall’s chill. "That’s not the word I’d use."

A faint smile curved her lips, quick and sharp like a blade glinting in frost. "Then perhaps cautious would suit you better. My father doesn’t waste his time on people he doesn’t see value in."

He caught the warning hidden beneath her light tone. It wasn’t for show—Earl Frost was a man whose interest came with consequences.

Julies’ gaze flicked toward her, trying to read what lay behind her composure. "And what kind of value does he see in me, exactly?"

Amelia shrugged, her gloved hands brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. "You’re asking the wrong person. My father doesn’t share his thoughts, not even with family."

Then, with a faintly teasing tone, she added, "Why don’t you figure it out yourself, with that famous emotional intelligence of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "If you’re going to be uncooperative, I might have to reconsider our previous arrangement."

Her brows lifted slightly, but her smile didn’t waver. "The arrangement to help me get closer to Lady Alice, you mean?"

That stung more than he expected.

Amelia had a way of turning words into needles—softly spoken, but piercing all the same.

For a moment, neither spoke. The echo of their boots on marble filled the corridor as they walked side by side toward the Earl’s study.

Finally, Julies broke the silence. "You’re not making this easy."

"I wasn’t aware I was supposed to," she said simply. "You came to me because I could open doors you couldn’t. That’s all this is."

Her tone was even, but there was something else beneath it—resentment, maybe. Or exhaustion.

He glanced at her again, the flicker of emotion quickly hidden behind her usual frost. "You really think your father sees you as nothing but a business asset?"

She chuckled softly, but it wasn’t amusement. "Oh, I’m certain of it. To him, I’m an extension of the Frost legacy—another ledger to balance, another alliance to profit from."

Her words carried no bitterness, just an almost eerie calm.

"Then why me?" he asked quietly. "If it’s all business, why help me?"

"Who knows?" she murmured. "Maybe I’m bored. Maybe I just want to see what kind of chaos you’ll cause when you start making deals in his house."

Julies smirked, though his eyes stayed wary. "Or maybe you just want to see me burn."

"Perhaps," she replied. "But if you do, make sure it’s spectacular. My father appreciates efficiency—even in disaster."

He laughed under his breath, though the sound didn’t reach his eyes. "You really have a charming way of reassuring people."

"I’m not here to reassure you, Julies."

Amelia’s voice softened, almost a whisper, carrying a rare sincerity that cut through the cold. "I’m here because you said Alice’s name. That’s all the reason I need."

The words hit harder than he expected.

Julies froze, momentarily forgetting the storm outside or the weight of what was coming. The sharp, confident tone she always carried melted into something far more fragile. Her eyes, usually bright with calculated mischief, now held a faint tremor—like glass threatening to crack.

She brushed a strand of pink hair behind her ear, pretending not to notice his silence.

Julies opened his mouth, wanting to say something—anything—but nothing came out. For once, words failed him.

Seeing his hesitation, Amelia smiled faintly. It wasn’t her usual playful smirk, but a tired, almost knowing smile.

"So," she said softly, "will you share your thoughts with me this time?"

He blinked. "My thoughts?"

"Yes." She leaned forward slightly, her tone sharpening again. "How do you plan to involve me and Alice this time? I’d like to know before you drag us both into another one of your brilliant but suicidal plans."

There it was—the reconfirmation.

Even now, even after everything, she still didn’t fully trust him. And honestly... he couldn’t blame her.

Julies let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not about dragging you in, Amelia. It’s about what comes next—about the Frost family’s role in—"

He didn’t get to finish.

—Bang!

The door to the reception room slammed open, startling them both.

"Ha! What impudence!" Amelia snapped, her temper flaring immediately.

Julies turned his head toward the doorway, irritation flickering across his face. Of all times—now?

Standing there was a well-dressed, middle-aged butler with perfectly combed hair and the kind of arrogance that could frost steel. His tone was dripping with condescension.

"Excuse me, miss," he said with a stiff bow that was anything but polite, "but this is a summons from the lord of the house."

Julies caught the subtle flicker of disdain in the man’s eyes as they swept over Amelia. It wasn’t even hidden.

Her expression darkened. "And you couldn’t knock?"

The butler didn’t flinch. "The matter is urgent. Lord Frost demands the presence of both Lord Julies Evans and Miss Amelia—immediately."

He gestured lazily with a gloved hand, as if dismissing servants instead of addressing nobles. "Come along now. The Earl does not enjoy being kept waiting."

Julies’s jaw tightened.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this—the quiet resentment toward Amelia from her father’s household staff. To them, she was little more than a political tool, a daughter with a reputation for impulsiveness and a heart too open for noble politics.

And yet, she stood her ground.

"Tell my father we’ll come when we’re ready," she said coldly, her voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.

The butler’s lips twitched, but he bowed again. "As you wish, milady. But I suggest haste. He wasn’t in a patient mood."

When he left, closing the door with a soft click, the silence that followed was deafening.

Julies rubbed his temple, muttering under his breath, "Well, that’s promising."

Amelia exhaled slowly, tension still visible in her shoulders. "He’s been worse lately. The servants act like his authority rubs off on them."

Julies gave a half-smile. "Arrogance trickles down fast in noble houses."

"Especially in mine," she said bitterly.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the fire in the corner. Then Amelia straightened, her composure returning.

"Let’s go," she said, her voice firm again. "The longer we make him wait, the colder this room will get."

Julies rose to his feet, glancing once toward her. "Ready to face the Earl of Frost?"

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "I was born in his house, Julies. Ready or not doesn’t matter."

Julies adjusted his coat, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

’I’ve faced dukes, demons, and worse, he thought. How bad could one Earl be?’