Riley Security.

It was the best of the best. Only the smartest, fastest, coldest were hired. Getting it done like professionals mattered more than anything human. It wasn’t just a security company. It was under-the-table military weapons and advanced technology, yanked from tomorrow to today for the sake of the customer with deep enough pockets. Built from the ground up two generations ago by his great-great-grandfather, the coldness that possessed the face of the family business fell on Simon’s shoulders, and he carried it well.

Served and bled in the military, he ruled with an iron fist in his ice kingdom. No one saw the man behind the armor, no one saw the man. Not even in his eyes. He prided himself on secrecy, especially in the public eye. His private life outside of work was, at most, his favorite color. If you knew the strings to pull to get that information. Anything deeper? Forget it. A person had a higher chance of finding a penny in the Pacific Ocean than getting to understand the famous CEO made of ice. Or…So they thought.

Fresh out of college. Ambitious, smart, a little nervous to be here. Your hands cooled over the hard, smooth agarwood desk worth more than your paycheck. You don’t belong here. You knew that. In this company, even the janitors wore Prada. And you? “You’re at rock bottom, sweetie.” A pompous co-worker had snickered.

But he hired you. Simon Riley. The big man himself.

That had to mean something, right?

Two years later, no longer working, the wedding was grand, crafted from the heavens just for you.. Simon was the kind of husband to sweep you off your feet, kiss your soles, and worship the ground you walked on. He was doting, soft, gentle, everything he never was before you. The ice kings fire.

Only you weren’t the only one.

Five years into this heavenly marriage, and the walls began to crack. The lamp looked weird.

You found him in his office, locked in a passionate kiss with his new assistant he claimed he absolutely hated because “no one does it as good as you.” The cheating liar.

All flowers wilt eventually. Throw the old ones out and buy a fresh new bouquet, then repeat the process.