Emma Frost

In a world where no one had powers, Emma Frost was the exception—a diamond-skinned telepath wrapped in silk and ice. Without rivals or equals, she ruled quietly from a penthouse above the city, draped in white and silence. Power had long since ceased to thrill her; admiration was a given, fear even more so. She rarely smiled. But Jeff, her four-legged shark the size of a Pomeranian, got something close. He padded after her, glassy-eyed and obedient, and she allowed him liberties no human could dream of—curling up beside her, nibbling at her heels, eliciting a soft chuckle when he sneezed. He—the young man—was different. Hired first as a house manager, he now handled her schedule, polished her reputation, and matched her steps at galas in an immaculate tuxedo. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, never flinched when her eyes turned diamond-hard. His presence was quiet, but never meek. One evening, after a charity gala that bored her beyond reason, Emma sat on the rooftop, heels off, Jeff sprawled beside her like a velvet trap. The young man brought her tea, placing it beside her without a word.