---
💔 OWNED BY A COLD HEART 🧊❄️
🔞
---
📖 Episode Two – Quiet Girls and Cold Deals
🏫 Ridgepoint High – 10:57 a.m.
Liana sat under the shade of an old oak tree at the far end of the school courtyard—her usual spot. Quiet. Out of the way. She didn't like crowds. She didn't like attention. She liked... air. And this corner had plenty.
The cafeteria buzzed in the distance—tray clatters, over-loud jokes, the occasional drama that came with hormonal teenagers and cafeteria pizza. Liana pulled out her notebook and pretended to be busy. That's how she kept the world at bay—books, pens, silence.
But her thoughts wouldn't cooperate.
She stared at her phone again.
Still no message. No explanation for the mystery number from earlier. Not that she expected one.
She pushed it into her pocket and laid back in the grass, eyes on the clouds. They looked soft. Not like her life. She wished she could float on one. Just... drift.
Jayda came jogging over, two drinks in hand and a crooked grin. "Okay, so hear me out: we fake our deaths, move to Greece, and become mysterious writers who wear long coats and don't answer questions."
Liana cracked a small smile. "Tempting."
Jayda plopped down beside her. "Girl, what's up with you today? You're like... quieter than usual. And that's saying something."
Liana shrugged. "Just tired."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Jayda looked at her for a second, then leaned back too. "You ever feel like something big is coming? Like... you don't know what, but your stomach kinda knows?"
Liana didn't respond. But yes. Yes, she did.
The bell rang.
---
🏢 Downtown – Ravencliff International Headquarters – 11:32 a.m.
Damian's office sat on the 58th floor of the tallest building in the city—glass, steel, and silence. Everything here gleamed. Nothing was out of place.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a report he'd already memorized. The skyline stretched before him, cold and gray—his kind of weather.
"Sir," his assistant said carefully from the doorway, "the Tokyo investors are asking for a video conference. They want a personal word."
"Tell them no," Damian said without turning.
"But they—"
"No."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It cut through air like frostbite.
The assistant nodded quickly and disappeared.
Damian finally set the paper down. He didn't trust people. He didn't need partners. He built alone. He ruled alone. He didn't take calls unless they were life or death. And even then, he preferred silence.
He walked over to his desk—a massive slab of obsidian—and tapped a button. A screen lit up, showing a list of new security hires, one flagged in red. A guard had spoken to a journalist.
"Fire him," he said flatly.
The screen updated.
He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled. Not a wrinkle on his suit. Not a trace of emotion on his face.
His mind was always three moves ahead. His enemies were always two moves behind.
---
🚶‍♀️ Walking Home 🌆
The final bell had barely stopped echoing when Liana slipped out through the back gate, hoodie up, bag slung over one shoulder. She didn't wait for Jayda this time—her thoughts were loud, and the air felt heavy.
The streets buzzed with after-school noise: car horns, shouting kids, the low rumble of buses groaning into motion. But Liana walked quietly, her footsteps soft on cracked sidewalks, weaving through her usual path like a shadow.
Houses blurred past—some neat, some broken. Stray dogs barked at nothing. A couple argued behind a half-open window. The world didn't pause, and neither did she.
She didn't mind walking.
It gave her time to think… or not think at all.
Just the rhythm of her shoes hitting pavement. The sky growing dimmer, streaked with tired gold. Her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
---
🏠Home Again 🍲
The apartment smelled like garlic and cheap tomato sauce—comfort food on a tired day.
Liana dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her sneakers, the old floor creaking beneath her as she walked in.
Her mother was at the stove, humming off-key to a song playing faintly from her phone speaker. She glanced back and smiled without turning down the heat.
"Hey, baby. How was school?"
"Long," Liana said, collapsing into the frayed kitchen chair. "Tiring. Weird."
Her mother chuckled. "Weird how?"
Liana shrugged. "Just... weird."
She didn't explain further. Her mom didn't ask. That was their rhythm—close enough to feel, distant enough not to press.
A moment passed. The sound of the pan sizzling filled the space between them.
Liana looked up.
"Mom…" she hesitated. "Did I ever ask you what Dad looked like?"
Her mother's hands paused—just for a second. Then she flipped the onions without turning around.
"You did. Once. You were six."
"And?"
"You stopped asking after I didn't answer."
Liana fell quiet.
She didn't remember that.
She remembered other things—like the way her mom always changed the subject, or how no framed photo in the house ever showed a man. Not even in the corners. Not even faded.
Her father was a ghost who left before she even knew what love meant.
Her mother finally turned around, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I didn't show you his face because... you never needed it."
Liana's voice was small. "But maybe I did."
They stared at each other—two women, one house, and a silence filled with too many unspoken things.
Her mom softened, came over, and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "You've got me. That's always been enough."
Liana nodded, even though a part of her heart still whispered otherwise.
Maybe that part was just lonely.
Maybe it was curious.
Or maybe... it was finally waking up.