She’d chased after the cold–hearted commander for 3 years.
She’d flirted, teased, and tempted him 999 times.
And still, he never stepped down from his damn pedestal.
She had the kind of figure that turned heads–tiny waist, full chest, flawless skin.
But to him? She wasn’t even worth a glance.
The final rejection broke something in her.
Without hesitation, she grabbed the landline on the desk and dialed a number she hadn’t called in
years.
“I’ve decided,” she said flatly. “I’ll marry that backwoods farmer you wanted me to.‘
There was a long pause on the other end before Richard Hart finally spoke, disbelief thick in his
voice.
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t believe me? Then forget it.”
“No, no, no!” he blurted, his voice cracking with excitement.
“I just… I just can’t believe it! This is amazing. You’ve finally come to your senses. I’ll start preparing the wedding right away. You’ll have the grandest ceremony imaginable!”
“A grand wedding? In the middle of nowhere?”
She let out a cold laugh, her eyes emotionless.
“Don’t bother with the arrangements. Don’t show up either. And make sure your little first love and
her precious daughter stay the hell out of my sight.”
She paused, her voice dropping an octave.
“One week. I want a hundred grand. I’ll take it and go.”
“You’re cutting me off?”
Richard’s tone turned dark. “I’m still your father, Olivia Hart!”
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“Father?”
Olivia let out a low, bitter laugh.
“You think you deserve that title?”
She hung up before he could answer.
He’d cave–she knew it.
He needed her to marry into that backwater town.
Whatever terms she named, he’d agree.
She lifted her head and met her own gaze in the mirror.
There it was–that face that still carried traces of her mother’s.
Ten years.
It had been ten years since her mom died.
And still, she couldn’t erase the image of Richard stepping over her mother’s fresh grave with his
mistress and her daughter in tow.
That was 1970.
She had just turned ten.
Her mother had barely been buried when Richard brought home his so–called “first love” and her daughter, Emily Ross.
That day, Emily wore a bright red dress and clutched the hem shyly as she called her “dear sister.”
Olivia had answered by hurling a incense burner at Richard’s head and splitting it open.
That night, she was shipped off overseas.
And for years, she let him do whatever he wanted back home–spoiling Emily rotten while she, in a rebellious frenzy, spent his money like water in the clubs and casinos of Europe.
Until three years ago, he dragged her back with a single telegram.
New policy: merge the city and the countryside.
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He couldn’t bear to see sweet little Emily suffer through country life, so he figured he’d dump his “problem child” Olivia out there instead.
She had smashed everything in the house worth smashing–including his beloved heritage blue porcelain vase.
He had been so furious, he had her tied up and sent straight to a military unit–his old friend’s son’s regiment.
That man was Captain Jack Rivers.
At just twenty–eight, he was already a battalion commander. Known across the military as the Iceman. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable.
Jack stood 6’2“, all hard angles and clean lines–broad shoulders, narrow waist, chiseled face with storm–gray eyes under thick brows. He wore his uniform like it was tailored by the gods, his presence as intimidating as winter on the mountain.
And from the moment she arrived, he treated her worse than any soldier under her father’s command.
First day, he made her run drills until her feet were blistered and swollen.
She curled up under the covers that night, eyes red with tears, cursing him to hell and back.
But the next morning, a tube of bruise ointment had magically appeared on her nightstand.
Jack was cold–ice–cold–but damn it, he had his moments.
When she had a stomachache late at night and the infirmary was locked, he climbed through a
window to get her meds.
When she failed her marksmanship test, he kept her on the range until dawn, guiding her grip and murmuring, “Breathe. Aim. Now squeeze.”
And when she caught a fever and started talking nonsense, he called her dramatic–but stayed up all night by her bedside.
Somehow, in the middle of that bitter, punishing environment… her heart started to thaw.
She fell for him.
Everyone said Captain Rivers didn’t care for romance. That he lived for his country, not for women.
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But she didn’t believe it. No man was made of stone.
So she tried everything to make him notice her.
She bent over to tie her shoelaces right in front of him, shirt collar falling open.
He just threw a jacket over her with a blank stare. “Cover up.”
One stormy night, she knocked on his door, clutching a pillow. “I had a nightmare.”
He called the guards. “Send a female soldier to bunk with her.”
During training, she faked heatstroke and collapsed toward him.
He sidestepped without blinking. “Stretcher,” he told the medic.
Jack… really was made of ice.
But not when it came to Emily.
She once spilled oat milk latte on his maps. He only said gently, “Careful. It’s hot.”
She braided him an ugly red bracelet. He wore it for three years.
She even barged into his meetings and fed him candy. He just sighed and looked at her with that
soft, indulgent gaze.
Everyone knew why.
1
Years ago, during a mission, he was caught in an avalanche. Emily was a field nurse at the time.
She spent three days and three nights digging through the snow until she found him–half–dead
and frozen.
She carried him on her back and brought him back to life.
A debt like that? He would never forget it.
And Olivia? She was just a spoiled heiress Richard threw at him for “reform.” The exact kind of
woman Jack couldn’t stand.
Last night, Olivia saw Emily leaving Blake’s office–hair down, lips red.
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D
Olivia didn’t want to think about what happened behind that closed door.
She wasn’t that pathetic. She wasn’t going to fight over a man with Emily.
Fine. Let her have him.
She’d rather marry some rugged man in the middle of nowhere than keep humiliating herself here.
At least there, she wouldn’t have to see Jack.
Or Emily.
Or any of this heartbreak.
Olivia took a deep breath and grabbed her clean clothes, heading for the communal showers.
Only, when she turned the tap–nothing came out.
She glanced at the clock. Jack should still be on the training field. He wouldn’t be back for a while.
She filled a wooden tub in the living room with cold water and mixed in some hot.
Once the temperature was just right, she slid in and sank down with a soft sigh.
But five minutes later, she froze.
Voices outside.
Jack. Along with several of his officers.
The doorknob turned.
“Out!” he barked suddenly. “No one goes in!”
The door slammed shut.
Outside, hushed whispers:
“What’s going on?”
“I think Miss Hart’s in there… bathing…”
“I just caught a glimpse–damn, she’s pale as snow. If I could marry her-”
“Keep dreaming, man.”
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“Shut it!” Jack snapped. Fury laced every word. “Anyone says another word, the whole unit runs twenty extra miles!”
Their footsteps scattered fast.
Inside, Olivia calmly dried off and got
dressed.
When she stepped out, Jack was waiting in the shadows, his expression icy.
“Who told you to bathe there?” His voice was sharp as a whip. “Olivia, have you no shame left? You’ll do anything to seduce me now?”
She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you. The communal showers weren’t working—”
“Weren’t trying?” he cut her off, stalking toward her. His tone sliced like a knife.
“You weren’t trying when you soaked naked in the living room?”
“You weren’t trying when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night with a pillow?”
“You weren’t trying when you collapsed into my arms during drills?”
“Olivia,” he bit out the words, “let me say it one last time. I’m not interested in you.”
“You were shoved onto me by your father. Once your ‘reform‘ period is up, we’ll have nothing to do with each other again.”
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