Where Crimson Melts the Frost

I was eight months pregnant when I walked into the club my husband, Damien, frequented.

The heat inside was suffocating, like a steam room; the air conditioning must have been on the fritz.

I wanted to duck into the adjacent, temperature-controlled wine cellar to cool off.

The other patrons were suffering, too, murmuring for someone to open the cellar door and let some cool air into the club.

But his mistress, a dancer named Lilith, blocked my path.

“Ma'am, please don’t,” she whimpered. “I have cramps. The cold will kill me.”

Panic set in; the suffocating heat could be dangerous for my unborn child.

I shot her a look, said nothing, and simply ordered my bodyguards to open the cellar door.

Damien stormed in that evening, his face a mask of fury.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? Lilith is in the emergency room with severe cramps because you left that cellar door open for forty minutes!"

"Are you kidding me, Damien?" I shot back. "I know what cramps feel like. If I'd gotten heatstroke, two lives would have been on the line. Have you lost your mind?"

Damien smirked and nodded. "You're right. My mistake."

That night, he soothed me to sleep with the same gentle touch as always.

But when I woke up, I found myself in an industrial meat locker.

Frozen carcasses hung all around me. Outside the glass, Damien had his arm around Lilith's waist, sneering at me.

"Scared of the heat? Don't worry. I'll give you a real chance to cool off."

My heart sank, but I calmly pulled out my phone and took pictures of every single person watching from outside.

Then, I made a call. "Papa, I don't want these people to see tomorrow's sunrise."

————————

1

After I hung up, a dead silence fell outside the meat locker.

Then, a thunderous burst of laughter erupted.

"Alessia, your father Lorenzo died in a car crash six months ago. Did the cold scramble your brain, or have you actually gone insane?"

"Exactly. Still think you're the Moretti principessa? Dream on."

Damien savored the taunts from his men, his eyes brimming with satisfaction as he gently draped a lavish fur coat over Lilith's shoulders.

He pulled her into his arms and slowly strode toward me.

His index finger tapped lightly on the glass in front of me.

"Alessia, are you cold? Have you learned your lesson?"

The industrial thermometer on the wall read negative fifty degrees Fahrenheit.

I was wearing only a thin silk nightgown, shivering uncontrollably.

My feet were bare on the frosted ground, my skin already turning a purplish-black and numb from the cold.

Sharp, stabbing pains shot up from the soles of my feet.

I stumbled to the glass and slammed my fist against it.

"Damien, what did I do wrong?! The club was an oven. Was I wrong to cool off in the wine cellar? Pregnant women can't overheat! A heatstroke would have cost two lives!"

The sudden outburst sent a sharp pain through my lower abdomen.

I quickly clutched my belly and slowly crouched down.

I glared at him, my eyes bloodshot.

"Damien, let me out. You know how much I've suffered for this child. He is the first heir to our family. I can't lose him!"

A complex emotion flickered in Damien's eyes.

He knew better than anyone what we had endured for this child.