Ice Queen Returns

Phoebe's POV

September hit Coralia like a slap, and here I was, back in the suffocating grandeur of the Hale mansion in Clearwater. Five bodies crowded the living room, tension so thick you could practically taste it.

I sprawled across my couch, legs crossed with deliberate casualness, while the other four huddled together on the opposite side like scared rabbits. The distance between us might as well have been a battlefield.

My phone buzzed with gunfire sounds from the game I was crushing, each blast perfectly timed to cut through whatever garbage my father was trying to spill.

"Phoebe, you just flew in. You don't know jack about running a business," Sergio's voice grated against my ears. "Hand over those shares to me. You'll still collect your yearly payout like always."

I didn't bother looking up. My thumbs kept working.

He pressed on, desperation creeping into his tone. "Atticus's a man now. Time he learned the business. I could split half your shares his way so he doesn't start with nothing."

Still nothing from me.

"And this whole Brady engagement thing," Sergio pushed harder. "You've been gone for years. You don't even know the guy anymore. Why not let Patty step in?"

I kept playing like he was invisible—which, honestly, he pretty much was to me.

Sergio's control started cracking. His face went dark, but before he could blow his top, Nathalia swooped in with her practiced grace. The woman had turned playing stepmother into an art form.

"Sergio, sweetheart, she just walked through the door," Nathalia cooed, her hand finding his chest. "Give her a minute to breathe."

But those eyes of hers? Ice cold as they shot a look at her daughter.

Patty caught the signal and sprang up, snatching my phone like she had any right to touch my stuff. "Phoebe, Dad's trying to talk to you! Show some respect. You're stressing him out."

The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees as I fixed her with a stare that could've melted steel. "Give. It. Back."

She went white as a sheet, probably feeling the chill rolling off me in waves.

I snatched my phone back, but the damage was done. Game over. My teammates were ripping me apart in chat, and my mood went from bad to nuclear.

I hadn't even grabbed a glass of water since my plane touched down. My luggage was still sitting by the front stairs like some sad abandoned puppy. But did Sergio give a damn about any of that? Not a chance.

No questions about how I'd survived all those years overseas on my own. No interest in my life whatsoever. Just greedy hands reaching for my shares and scheming to dump my fiancé on someone else.

Some father figure he turned out to be. Then again, Sergio had never bothered with the whole dad thing anyway.

I couldn't care less about this mysterious fiancé or the whole arranged marriage circus. But that didn't mean I'd let anyone steal what belonged to me.

I wasn't my mother—Natalie—who gave up everything, including her last breath, for a man who didn't deserve it.

The real kicker? Shortly after Mom died, Sergio had the balls to move his side piece Nathalia and her two brats right into our house.

Atticus was older than me, and Patty was barely my senior. Their sudden invasion was like spitting on Mom's grave, and it sent my mother's family into a rage that nearly ended in bloodshed.

Even though I'd grown up overseas with Grandfather, I was still the legitimate Hale heir. My uncles were so pissed they almost came after Sergio with actual weapons.

Back in the day, Sergio had built his empire using my maternal grandfather Oscar Lorenzo's connections and cash. Mom had owned 60% of the shares, and before she died, she'd secretly transferred every single one to me.

It was probably the smartest thing she'd ever done, considering how everything else had gone to hell.

By the time Sergio figured it out, it was way too late. Oscar's people had already whisked me out of the country.

Sergio didn't hear a peep from me until I got old enough to make contact on my own terms.

As far as the Lorenzo family was concerned, Sergio and his mistress had pushed Mom to her breaking point. They'd wanted revenge, but no matter what moves they made, Sergio always slipped through their fingers.

The only explanation was that he had serious muscle backing him up. Some of the company's breakthrough products didn't even come from our research team—they arrived through private channels under Sergio's name.

But here's the part that really messed with my head—I'd discovered that Mom hadn't cracked up and run away like everyone thought. She'd been taken.

When Oscar's people finally tracked her down, she was locked up in some psychiatric facility—either drugged senseless or dead to the world. During her rare lucid moments, she'd cry and beg for a lawyer to help her write her will.

I shoved those dark thoughts aside and slipped my phone into my pocket, locking eyes with Sergio.

My voice came out flat and deadly. "So all those hundreds of calls, all that pressure to get me home—that was just your con to trick me into handing over my shares so your worthless son can destroy everything I own?

"You actually think you run this company now? Did you forget who controls the majority stake around here?

That bastard kid of yours isn't setting foot in my business."

Sergio's face went ugly. "You ungrateful little—"

Atticus, who'd been playing statue until now, shot me a look that could've killed small animals.

I didn't even blink. Instead, I pointed straight at Patty.

"And you want me to dump my engagement so this little homewrecker can slide into my spot, right? Like mother, like daughter. I've never seen anyone so proud of being the other woman."

I turned my attention to Patty and let my contempt show. "Did mommy teach you that trick? Was that part of your precious upbringing—how to steal another woman's man?

What is it with you people and taking what's mine?"

Sergio's expression went black, his whole scheme exposed, but he still tried to keep his voice level. "Phoebe, don't talk like that. Atticus's the only male heir. Of course he'll run the company eventually. You don't even want to work there, so why hang onto those shares?

"And this Brady engagement—that was just something your grandfather and Silas cooked up years ago. Now that Oscar's dead, it doesn't hold water. Patty and the boy are in love. Would you really want to destroy that?"

Sergio only had the guts to push me around now because he'd heard Grandfather was gone.

With Oscar dead, the Lorenzo family was like fresh meat in shark-infested waters—every vulture was circling for a piece. Sergio probably figured they were too busy protecting their own empire to waste time on him.

Fighting Back Hard

Phoebe's POV

My uncles wouldn't be able to bail me out much longer—they had their own messes to deal with.

Once Sergio dragged me back under his control, I'd be completely on my own. And that bastard would have free rein to destroy me however he pleased.

He'd manipulated my mother Natalie like a puppet years ago. In his twisted mind, I was just another naive girl he could break.

"Phoebe, I'm your father, your only real family," Sergio's voice dripped with fake warmth. "I would never harm you. Just cooperate with me. I'll bring Devin the lawyer over so you can sign the transfer documents."

"Tomorrow, you'll break off your engagement to the Brady boy. After that, you can return overseas. I won't interfere with your life again, I swear."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Do you actually believe the garbage coming out of your mouth? You think I can't see right through this pathetic act?"

"You don't give a damn about me—you just want to drain me dry and dump me when I'm no longer useful."

The second I caved to his demands, Sergio would cut me loose permanently. I'd lose everything, and my plans for revenge would crumble to dust.

"You think I'm some pushover just because I haven't retaliated yet?" I said. "Let me spell it out for you—I'd rather watch everything burn than hand you a single penny."

I jabbed my finger toward Atticus and Patty. "My mother only had one child. I don't have any brothers or sisters. Those two are the bastard children you had with your whore. They have zero rights to anything that belongs to me."

Sergio's face contorted with fury. He swung his hand back, ready to strike me. "You disrespectful little bitch! I'll beat some sense into you!"

But I grabbed his wrist before he could land the blow. Sergio let out a strangled yelp.

I might have looked delicate, but I was far from helpless. Sergio had no clue what I was capable of. He assumed I'd been barely surviving overseas all these years. He figured a kid abandoned by her parents would crumble at the first hint of fake affection.

But I'd never lacked love or protection. Hell, I could obliterate Sergio using just one of my secret identities.

Over the years, I rarely visited, keeping my relationship with Sergio superficial at best.

I'd waited until my eighteenth birthday to return because that's when I could legally claim my mother's shares.

But there was another reason—I had evidence connected to my mother's disappearance. I needed an excuse to stay in the country and investigate further.

Sergio's desperate power play had handed me the perfect opportunity, so I came back.

Sergio screamed as I twisted his wrist harder, but no amount of cursing would make me let go. Nobody dared intervene—my cold fury had them all paralyzed with fear.

My phone started ringing. I scowled, shoved Sergio away, then delivered swift kicks to Nathalia and her brats, sending all four of them tumbling into a pathetic heap.

I glanced at my phone, declined the call, and shoved it back in my pocket.

Then I stared down at the wreckage before me. "Dad, you're the one who begged me to come home. Did you really think you could swindle my shares and kick me out immediately after? Dream on."

"I'm not the doormat you were counting on."

Something about my words must have struck a nerve. Sergio suddenly scrambled to his feet and charged at me, hand raised and voice trembling with rage. "I'll murder you, you ungrateful piece of trash!"

I calmly stepped backward. Sergio swung at empty air and slammed face-first into the floor, hitting his knees hard.

Nathalia and the kids scrambled to help him up, all of them shooting me murderous looks—but none of them had the guts to make another move.

Lucky for Sergio, he'd dismissed the servants and bodyguards earlier because he didn't want witnesses to his little scam. If they'd seen this disaster, his humiliation would have been complete.

"You actually thought you could steal what's rightfully mine?" I sneered.

Sergio struggled to his feet, trembling with rage, but now there was genuine terror in his eyes. "I'm still your father," he snarled. "You'll obey me. I'm the head of the Hale family!"

I didn't bother looking back as I headed for the door. I stopped just before leaving. "I've already called a shareholders' meeting for the day after tomorrow," I said icily. "Let's see how long you survive without the company propping you up."

"What?" Sergio went rigid. His face drained of color as he frantically called his secretary. Behind him, I strolled away without a care in the world.

Outside, my phone rang again. I answered. "Selena? What do you want?"

"Phoebe! Are you in Coralia?" Selena's voice bubbled with excitement. She was my business partner overseas.

"Yeah. What's the deal?" I replied, then added a warning, "Don't try dumping work on me. I'm on vacation."

Selena laughed. "I know, I know. But this is just a quick gig. There's a batch of experimental drugs that needs delivery within the hour. Super time-sensitive. The payment is 3 million dollars. You interested?"

I raised an eyebrow. "3 million? Who's throwing around that kind of money?"

"Harold from Clearwater. His grandfather just had a medical crisis. He needs black market medication to keep him alive," Selena explained. "Since you're already there, it's a local delivery. Easy cash."

"Fine. When will the drugs be ready?" I didn't exactly need the money, but I wasn't going to turn down easy profit either.

Selena hesitated and let out an awkward laugh. "Here's the thing. It's too short notice. Even if we shipped it now, it might not arrive in time. But don't you still have some of those All Miracle Pills on you? Maybe you could—"

I laughed in disbelief. "So that's what you're really after."

Selena chuckled nervously. "Come on, Phoebe, do me a favor?"

Dangerous Delivery

Phoebe's POV

Moments later, I slipped my black helmet on and hopped onto the sleek black motorcycle sitting in the Hale driveway. The engine roared to life as I kicked off, already humming under my breath—time to get this delivery done.

——

Atticus and Patty finally crept outside once Phoebe disappeared from view. They unleashed a string of curses, but their anger was pointless now. She was long gone.

——

Phoebe's POV

My phone buzzed while I cruised down the street—Harold's file coming through. I tapped it open and nearly hit the brakes when his photo loaded.

Damn. The guy was stunning. Tall frame, shoulders that could fill a doorway, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Gold-rimmed glasses framed his eyes, but they couldn't hide the intensity lurking beneath. His mouth was set in a hard line—the kind of expression that screamed power and control.

I let out a low whistle. "Now we're talking," I murmured.

He looked dangerous in all the right ways. Cold, commanding—exactly what got my blood pumping.

Any doubts I'd had about taking this job evaporated the second I saw that face. I grinned, cranked the throttle, and shot forward.

Later, I rolled up to a sprawling mansion and brought my bike to a smooth stop beside a gleaming black SUV. My ride looked beat to hell next to it—scratched paint, worn leather—but I couldn't care less.

The moment I killed the engine, a tall figure in an expensive suit approached, flanked by a crew of bodyguards.

I pulled off my helmet and sized up Harold as he closed the distance. Christ, the photos didn't do him justice.

Staying seated with one boot planted on the ground, I met his stare head-on. "Harold?"

He seemed caught off guard that his courier was female, but he nodded curtly. "The medicine?"

I fished a small plastic baggie from my jacket and dangled it between two fingers. "The cash?"

The bag looked sketchy as hell—just two tiny black pills rattling around inside cheap plastic. Nothing impressive about it.

Harold's gaze dropped to my wrist, where a simple black hair tie caught his attention. Something about my casual confidence seemed to throw him off balance.

After several beats of silent assessment, something cold flickered behind those designer frames. He suddenly switched tactics. Instead of making the trade, he pulled out his phone and transferred half the payment. "Come with me. The rest gets paid after testing."

I glanced at his muscle, then back at him. The setup felt sketchy, but I wasn't about to back down.

After a brief pause, I tucked the pills away, swung off the bike, and followed him inside, hands buried in my jacket pockets.

The Bailey estate screamed old money and older power—the kind of family that'd been running Clearwater since before my grandparents were born. The mansion looked like something out of a history book, all grand architecture and intimidating presence. Multiple courtyards stretched out before us, but only one blazed with light. A cluster of worried-looking people had gathered near the entrance.

In families like this, genuine concern and calculated performance were impossible to tell apart.

When Harold walked in with me trailing behind, every conversation died. All eyes locked onto me—curious, suspicious, judgmental.

Most people would've wilted under that kind of scrutiny, surrounded by politicians and business moguls.

I just strolled into that courtyard like I owned it, matching Harold's pace step for step.

With Mitchell dying, the Bailey family was staring down a vicious power struggle. Bringing an outsider into the mix right now had everyone on edge.

But Harold's reputation for ruthless efficiency kept mouths shut. Nobody dared question him directly—they just followed us deeper into the estate.

Mitchell had served alongside President Yule back in the day. When health forced his retirement, the government had assigned their best military doctors to his care.

Those same doctors now stood around Mitchell's bed looking completely defeated. He'd slipped into another coma without warning—no symptoms, no signs.

His latest one, and each lasted longer than the previous. This time, he'd been under far longer than anyone considered safe. His vitals kept dropping. They'd almost called time of death twice already.

Word had leaked, and suddenly Bailey family members swarmed the house, dragging lawyers behind them and stirring up chaos. They'd crowded around Mitchell's bed like vultures, each one acting like they had final say.

Harold had finally lost his temper and sworn he'd found experimental treatment to get them out of the room.

So when he walked in now with me beside him, the medical team looked anxious. "Did you locate the medication?" one asked.

Harold stayed quiet and looked my way.

I held up the plastic bag without hesitation. The two black pills inside made a soft rattling sound as I passed it over.

The doctors stared at it like I'd handed them street drugs. The packaging looked cheap, and the contents didn't inspire confidence.

"Miss, has this undergone clinical testing?" one doctor asked nervously, refusing to take the bag. "What are the adverse effects? The active ingredients?"

"No trials," I said bluntly. "Side effect is sleepiness. Ingredients are need-to-know."

The doctors looked skeptical as hell. I ignored them and turned back to Harold. "You ordered one pill. I brought backup. Test it if you want—I'll give you some time.

"But I'm telling you now—these work. Combine them with acupuncture, and your grandfather wakes up soon.

"And you're running out of time. At his current rate, he's got very little time left. Better make your choice fast."

Before Harold or the medical team could respond, someone laughed mockingly behind us.

"What a joke. The country's top military doctors are stumped, and some random girl waltzes in claiming she has all the answers?"

"Harold, where did you even dig her up? Experimental drugs are dangerous enough. If something goes wrong—"

"Exactly. Mitchell's survived worse before. Let's stick with proven methods instead of gambling now."

"She's just a child. What could she possibly know about Mitchell's condition? Giving him very little time to live—please."

"And acupuncture? What kind of ancient nonsense is that? Isn't that Buck's specialty anyway? If he's not here, what's the point?"

As the murmuring continued, Harold slowly turned to face the crowd. His voice stayed level but carried unmistakable authority. "If you don't want to get thrown out again, shut your mouths."

Silence fell instantly. Then Harold turned back to me, his stare boring into mine. "You practice traditional medicine?" The question sounded more like a quiet command. His tone was ice-cold and impossible to argue with.

Something about that look made my skin prickle. I'd seen it before somewhere, though I couldn't place when or where. "Some," I replied.