She stood up, the silk of her dress rustling like fallen snow. Without a backward glance, she stepped out into the night, leaving him alone in the neon glow. Julian watched her go, knowing he would be back tomorrow, still chasing the girl with the heart of stone, trapped in a winter that never ended.
She leaned in, her lips inches from his, but her breath felt like a winter gale. “Some things are meant to be preserved, Julian. Warmth is just another word for decay. If I let you in, we both burn out. This way, we last forever.”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled back just enough to make the rejection sting. It was their dance. He was the fire, desperate to melt the wall she had built around her heart; she was the glacier, indifferent to his heat. He remembered the early days—the whispers in the dark, the promises made in the heat of passion. But those memories felt like they belonged to someone else now.
She arrived at midnight, a vision in white silk that looked like frozen moonlight. Elena. The woman whose touch was a fever dream and whose gaze was an arctic blast. She didn't walk; she glided through the smoke and the synth-pop beat as if the room belonged to her, and perhaps it did.
“You’re cold as ice, Elena,” he whispered, the lyrics of the song playing overhead mirroring his soul. “I give you everything, and you give me nothing but a frostbitten heart.”
