Until We Burn (Break the Ice #1)
Chapter 1
DIANA HUANG
Every time the sun comes up, my breath grows a little tighter.
For me, a new day marks the start of another responsibility and another expectation weighing down my shoulders.
Today is no exception.
“Are you wearing that red dress I had Helen put on your bed? The one that makes your skin look whiter? I thought it would be perfect for the first day of class.”
Māma’s shrill voice pierces through the speaker. From her end, I can hear sirens blaring from Taipei City’s garbage trucks.
I sigh. “Yes, māma, I made sure to wear that dress.”
“Did you iron down the collar? You looked embarrassing the last time you didn’t. You don’t want to look embarrassing again, do you?”
I look up at my chauffeur, Hans. We both roll our eyes.
“Of course not, māma.”
“Remember to straighten your hair for the dinner party on Friday, too.”
“I will.”
“Important news leaders will be there, you know?”
“I know.”
I irritably scroll through the morning newspaper on my phone while māma prattles away on speaker. I wish I had brought one of my romance novels instead. Reading about people tearing off their clothes and tempting scandal would’ve kept me sane enough to handle this phone call.
Māma and bàba have been away for almost two weeks because they’re visiting Uncle Frederik in Taiwan. Even when māma is a thousand miles away from Vancouver, she still manages to keep a sharp eye on all her children.
“These details may seem silly to you, Diana. However, details decide your character. A lady with disheveled hair and an unkempt dress inspires no confidence whatsoever.”
I smile. “Not even if she has nice shoes?”
“Diana,” Māma snaps, “You might be one of the heirs to the Huang Media Group, but your siblings also have claim to it. They can take it from right under you.”
That’s when I tap the screen and land on a feature story about us.
My body tenses.
My smile falls.
Competition stirs in the Huang household as the heirs of the HMG vie for position of CEO starting in the fall of 2024
The feature photo says it all. My siblings and I sit on high-backed chairs: Sophia and I on one side, Gregory and Jonathan on the other.
Standing tall behind us is my stern-faced father and my beaming mother.
Their shadows loom over the Huang family sculpture glinting on a table.
Our names are engraved on the blades of four bronze knives that pierce an obsidian block at an angle.
The hilts spear out like sun rays, angling towards the heart of the sculpture where a much larger knife shines.
One day, the smooth blade will bear the name of the next CEO of the Huang Media Group, the global mass media company my family founded in 1952.
“The HMG does not simply keep you all fed,” Māma reminds me. “The HMG is a message made long ago by your ancestors who worked hard to prove their place in an industry that fought to keep them out.”
A swell of pride and determination tempers the pressure building up inside. “I won’t forget that, māma.”
“You need to keep the HMG in mind even when you’re sitting in a lecture about…”
“The history of strange art.”
“Yes. That.” I can hear the smile brightening her face before she sighs. “Your father and I are so proud of you for making it to your senior year, Diana! We know you’ll bring pride to the Huang name.”
My shoulders slump in relief when the car stops in front of the Dharton Hall University campus.
“Fantastic.” I eagerly gather my bag and my cup of matcha. “I’m heading into class now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Remember everything I said!”
I end the phone call. My forehead slumps against the window; it fogs against my heavy breaths, drawing in and out.
This is your last year of university. All you need to do is stay focused and learn as much as you can before the CEO vote. No matter what happens, put out one fire at a time.
The car door swings open. As I step out of the car, my nerves quiet down under the cool September air stirring through my black hair. I carefully tuck the front strands behind my ear, smooth my hand over my dress, and straighten my collar.
I turn towards Hans with my first genuine smile of the morning. “Thank you for driving me.”
Hans nods. “I’ll be here at five, Miss Diana.”
The surly, blonde chauffeur musters up a small smile just for me. I affectionately adjust his cap before I walk off to my first class of the semester. The click of my heels against the concrete drowns under the swarm of students rushing to their classes.
“Sorry! Excuse me!” A student darts by with her cello hiked onto her shoulders. She veers left just as another student pushes a creaking cart of microscopes past a group of English majors cradling stacks of books.
“Heads up!” The English majors scatter to evade the burly hockey players coming down the path.
Dharton Hall University—more colloquially known as DHU—is renowned for its versatility and prestige.
While other schools usually have one or two stellar programs, DHU is known for having the best programs for every industry.
That’s why bàba wanted all the Huangs to attend DHU’s School of Journalism.
My older brother Gregory graduated last year, my little sister Sophia is in her third year, and my twin brother Jonathan and I are in our senior year.
The crowds die down the closer I get to the Faculty of Arts.
Vibrant chalk drawings of blossoming flowers color the path under my feet.
Towering above it all is the Scheifele Building.
The floor-to-ceiling windows draw in the morning sun, making the limestone building glitter through the browning trees.
Room 102 is practically empty when I walk in.
I plop my bag down before setting my laptop and cup of matcha on the front-row tabletop. I sink into the swivel chair and open my laptop to look through my agenda for the day.
Look over the first fall issue
News meeting at the Howler (3 pm)
Take notes for yellow journalism reading
My confidence shrivels when I start running over the paper.
This is the first issue I’m overseeing as editor-in-chief of DHU’s multimedia outlet, the Howler.
Making sure the first issue is polished is the bare minimum.
I want the first issue to send a message to all those who voted against me and those who supported me: Under my watch, I will make the Howler the best it can be.
Even if I’m struggling to edit while students air out their problems around me.
“Do you guys know if Kai Mason-Maiau is going to be at the Wing and Flame?” a girl asks.
A guy snickers. “Why do you care? I heard Kai isn’t interested in dating anyone.”
Another student scoffs, “And he’s a total fraud. If he was ugly as shit, none of you would be thirsting over him.”
“Oh my god. Shut up, Ryan.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the paper. Coincidentally, the first story in the sports section is about Kai himself.
On a chilly Saturday morning, Kainoa “Kai” Mason-Maiau runs over shooting drills with a bright-eyed group of young hockey players at the Little Griffins Hockey Club.
The club has been a part of DHU athletics for over a decade.
It gives kids from low-income households a chance to play on the ice for free.
With help from his teammates, Luke King and Rowan Kaneshiro, Mason-Maiau has been dedicated to the program since he was a freshman.
“Every kid deserves to play the game if that’s what they want,” Mason-Maiau said. “I wouldn’t be where I’m at if no one took a chance on me.”
Ever since his first year, Mason-Maiau has been a star forward on the DHU Griffins hockey team.
He racked up 38 points from 16 goals and 21 assists, making him the first freshman forward in DHU history to score the most points in a single season.
He garnered even more attention after he became the first biracial player of Tahitian, Native Hawaiian, and English descent to get drafted first overall by the Winnipeg Narwhals.
Despite Joseph Merritt’s solid reporting, his ulterior motives are clear. I smile to myself as I delete phrases about Kai’s “impressive 6 '3 build” and “vivid, moss green eyes that glisten like seawater in the morning sun.”
Then, I peruse the photos Joseph took of Kai and the Little Griffins. I shift in my seat, a blush rising onto my cheeks like it always does when I see pictures of him.
This means nothing. I’m simply making sure the quality is pristine.
And it is because Kai looks utterly gorgeous from every angle.
Especially the one where he’s crouched down, fist-bumping a dimpled little girl in a neon pink helmet.
Despite the Balfur Arena’s ghastly white light, Kai’s tan skin and moss green eyes radiate so much kindness and warmth.
My cursor traces the dark curls peeking out from his black baseball cap, the strong jaw and full lips curling into a smile that’s so gentle against the powerful muscles and broad shoulders straining his windbreaker.
“Oh my god.” I brace my forehead between my hands. “Get it together, Diana.”
Māma’s words echo through my head again.
Remember, you might be one of the heirs to the Huang Media Group, but your siblings also have claim to it. They can take it from right under you.
After thirty years, bàba is resigning as CEO of the HMG.
My siblings and I have spent years honing our abilities for this moment, and how competent we are comes down to June 2025 when the next CEO will be voted in.
Until then, I have duties to fulfill at the Howler and the HMG.
I have to stay focused and prove that I’m just as good of a news leader as I am a journalist.
That means no distractions. At the end of the day, Kai is a source I shouldn’t be thinking about.
Especially a source with a reputation like his.
The door to the lecture room suddenly swings open.
“Hush, hush, hushhh!”
Professor Mellonbaum saunters in with a colorful sphere in her hands. Her scarves dramatically billow in the air, bright as the butterfly clips fluttering in her gray hair.
Her eyes perk up at me.
“Well, well, well…” Mellonbaum drags her pink cat-eye glasses down her nose. “What are you doing in my class, Miss Huang? I thought the heiress of the HMG would be taking courses on journalism ethics, or how to crush your enemies in the media?”
I laugh. “I just thought your class would be far more interesting as an elective. Besides, I don’t need courses on how to crush enemies in the media. It comes quite naturally to me.”
Mellonbaum smirks and waggles her finger at me. “I like the way you think.”
She flicks the lights off, switches on her PowerPoint, and plugs in the colorful sphere.
It glows to life. Projections burst from the multicolored holes, conjuring women with trumpets shooting from their ears and butterflies stuffed in the mouths of gawking men.
The projections rove over a sea of confused faces.
Mellonbaum spreads out her arms. “Welcome to the history of strange art! If you are baffled by this menagerie of creations swirling around you, may it call on you to question and examine your reality!”
Her smile falls. “But if you’re truly baffled because you think you are in the wrong class. . .you may leave.”
Several students scurry out of their seats.
I cross my arms over my chest, nervously fumbling with my buttons as Mellonbaum goes over the syllabus.
The phrases ‘slightly disturbed’ and ‘potentially high on shrooms’ litter every one of Ivy Mellonbaum’s reviews.
I wasn’t bothered by it at first. I figured they were written by disgruntled STEM majors who hated that an arts course demanded actual effort.
But now, as I watch the butterfly clips flutter in Mellonbaum’s hair, I’ve come to realize—with intrigue and concern—that the alarming reviews might be right.
“Now!” Mellonbaum claps her hands together.
“In the spirit of the first day, I want you all to introduce yourselves to your desk-mate through the art of close examination. As the projections pass over their face, watch what it brings out in them, write those observations down, and discuss your thoughts. This will allow you to get to know one another and practice the type of analysis I will be expecting you all to do for the semester.”
Students around me gather to work on the assignment. I glance side to side. For once, seeing an empty row makes me fidget.
I raise my hand. “Professor?”
She whirls around. “Yes, Diana?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a partner for this exercise.”
“Hmm…” Mellonbaum cups her hips. She narrows her eyes at the class. “I could’ve sworn there was supposed to be one more student—”
The door creaks open.
Suddenly, the room goes quiet.
Everyone shifts in their seats, rousing up like live wires as Kai Mason-Maiau stands at the threshold of the lecture room.