The sterile luxury of her suite in Sterling Manor felt less like a gilded cage and more like a high-tech command center as Zoe Carter, currently performing the role of Emily Miller, hunched over the sleek, Sterling-issued laptop. Catherine Sterling's silken threats and Isabelle Thorne's childish taunt of "little mouse" had done little to intimidate her; instead, they'd lit a fire under her. The vague, often contradictory plot points of Manhattan's Ice King were clearly insufficient armor in this upgraded, real-life version of hell. She needed intel. Real intel.
For hours, she dove into the digital rabbit hole. Sterling Enterprises was first. Public records, financial statements, industry analyses, news archives. The company was a global behemoth, its tentacles wrapped around everything from cutting-edge tech to luxury real estate and a surprisingly large stake in sustainable energy – a detail the novel had conveniently omitted in its rush to paint Alexander Sterling as a purely ruthless capitalist. She noted key board members, recent controversial projects, and known corporate rivals. Any chink in the Sterling armor could be a potential leverage point, or a lurking danger.
Then came Isabelle Thorne. Social media was a goldmine of carefully curated perfection – charity events, polo matches, art gallery openings (the irony wasn't lost on Zoe). But beneath the glossy veneer, Zoe's marketing-honed bullshit detector picked up inconsistencies. Isabelle's "spontaneous" acts of philanthropy often coincided a little too neatly with moments she needed good press. Her circle of "friends," like Olivia Vanderbilt, seemed more like fawning sycophants than genuine companions. Zoe cross-referenced names, looking for patterns, for disgruntled ex-employees of Thorne Industries, for anyone who might have a reason to dislike Isabelle enough to talk.
The Sterling family itself was a tougher nut to crack. Richard Sterling maintained an almost invisible public profile. Catherine was the polished, philanthropic face, her every public move calculated for maximum positive impact. Julian, Alexander's younger brother, was a charming enigma, flitting between society pages and occasional mentions in connection with less… reputable art dealers. Aunt Caroline was a pillar of old New York society, her pronouncements on cultural matters treated as gospel. Zoe built mental dossiers on each, trying to connect the dots from the novel with the digital footprints they left.
This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about understanding the battlefield.
Her first calculated move involved Chloe Davis. The previous call had been too vague, too focused on Zoe maintaining her "Emily in Wonderland" persona. She needed specifics about Original Emily's life just before the gallery incident.
"Chloe, hi, it's Emily again," she began, her voice carefully pitched to sound a little lost and wistful when she called the next morning. "I was just… trying to piece things together from that night. Everything is still so hazy after… well, after that cocktail Miss Thorne suggested."
"Oh, Em, you still sound a bit out of it," Chloe said, concern lacing her voice. "Are you sure you're okay over there? It all seems so… sudden with Mr. Sterling."
"I'm fine, really," Zoe lied smoothly. "Just… disoriented. Listen, this might sound silly, but before the gallery, did Emily – I mean, did I – mention anything unusual? Anyone I was supposed to meet, or anywhere I was supposed to go afterwards? Any new projects I was excited about, or worried about?" She needed to know if Original Emily had any hidden entanglements that Isabelle might have exploited, or that might now come back to bite her.
Chloe paused. "Um, not really? You were mostly excited about finally finishing that sculpture piece for the student showcase. And you were a bit stressed about rent, as usual. Oh! There was that weird email you got a few days before, remember? The one from that anonymous art collector who was supposedly interested in your work? You thought it was a prank."
An anonymous art collector? That hadn't been in the book. "I… I don't remember, Chloe. Can you tell me more?"
Chloe recounted what little Original Emily had told her – a vaguely worded inquiry, a request for a private viewing, an untraceable email address. It had seemed like a dead end at the time. But now, to Zoe, it screamed "Isabelle's setup." A way to lure Original Emily somewhere, or to get information about her. This was a concrete thread.
Just as Zoe was about to press for more details, Marcus Wayne's voice, crisp and professional, came through the suite's intercom. "Miss Miller, Mr. Alexander Sterling requests your presence in the main library in fifteen minutes."
Zoe's blood ran cold. An unscheduled summons. This wasn't on any "fiancée" itinerary. "Got to go, Chloe," she said abruptly. "Talk soon." She hung up, her mind racing.
The Sterling Manor library was as intimidating as the rest ofthe house – towering shelves filled with leather-bound volumes that probably hadn't been touched in decades, a massive fireplace, and an air of suffocating history. Alexander stood before the unlit hearth, staring into its depths, his back to her.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Sterling?" Zoe asked, her voice carefully neutral.
He turned, and the look on his face made her stomach clench. The Ice King was back, in full force. His eyes were like chips of glacial ice, his jaw set in a hard line.
"It has come to my attention, Miss Miller," he began, his voice dangerously soft, "that certain… unflattering… stories regarding your past are about to be published by several rather disreputable online tabloids."
Zoe's mind blanked for a second. My past? I don't have a past as Emily Miller beyond what this body experienced! Unless…
"Stories?" she managed, her voice a little breathless.
"Indeed," Alexander continued, his gaze unwavering. "Allegations of… let's call them 'questionable associations' back in Indiana. Perhaps a dalliance with a married professor at art school? Some rather… risqué photographs taken during a spring break trip that you might have forgotten?"
Zoe stared at him, horrified. This was Isabelle. It had to be. But how? These weren't Original Emily's transgressions; the novel portrayed her as a virtual saint, a naive innocent. Isabelle must have fabricated this entire narrative, or dug up dirt on some other Emily Miller and was planning to pin it on her. This was far more aggressive, far more damaging, than the simple "caught in a hotel room" scandal. This was character assassination.
"Those… those are lies," Zoe said, her voice shaking slightly, not entirely an act this time. "None of that is true."
"Truth, Miss Miller," Alexander said, taking a slow step towards her, "is a remarkably malleable concept in the hands of those who wish to shape it. These stories, true or not, are set to be released within the hour. Accompanied by… convincing evidence, I'm told."
Her novice protection period, if she'd ever truly had one, was officially, brutally over. This wasn't just about outsmarting Isabelle's catty remarks at a gala anymore. This was about her entire public identity being systematically destroyed. And Alexander… was he here to help her? Or to deliver the final blow?
"My PR team is already working on damage control," he continued, his voice still devoid of any discernible emotion. "We will issue denials, threaten legal action. But a story like this, once out, has a life of its own. It will tarnish you. And by extension," his eyes narrowed, "it will tarnish me and the Sterling name."
Zoe felt a cold dread seep into her bones. This was it. This was where he cut her loose. The contract probably had a clause about her bringing disrepute to the family. Isabelle had found a way to detonate their sham engagement before it even truly began.
"So, what are you saying, Mr. Sterling?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He stopped a few feet from her. "I'm saying, Miss Miller, that this… complication… requires a more… definitive solution than a simple press release." His gaze was intense, unyielding. "The announcement of our engagement was Step One. It seems Isabelle's actions have accelerated the timeline for Step Two."
Zoe's mind raced. Step Two? What Step Two? The novel never mentioned a Step Two after the engagement announcement! The plot was veering wildly off-script now.
"And what," she managed, her throat dry, "is Step Two?"
Alexander Sterling looked at her, a long, unreadable moment stretching between them. Then, he said, his voice as cold and hard as diamonds, "We're getting married, Miss Miller. Tomorrow."
Zoe Carter's carefully constructed world, the one she'd been trying to build atop the ruins of Emily Miller's fictional life, didn't just shatter. It exploded. Married? To Alexander Sterling? Tomorrow? This wasn't in any chapter of Manhattan's Ice King. This was a whole new level of insane.
Her "novice" days were not just over; they felt like a distant, almost idyllic memory. She had thought she was playing a game. She was just now beginning to understand she was in a war. And she was woefully, terrifyingly, outgunned.