Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Isabelle's POV
The next day was the start of my vacation, and I was determined to make it count.
I slept until noon—something I never allowed myself to do.
Instead of immediately getting up, I checked my car's location tracker on my phone. Sure enough, Conrad had taken it to get "serviced." What a fucking joke.
Today's mission was simple: worship myself like the goddess I am.
I slipped into stilettos I'd barely worn—the kind that made my legs look like they went on for days—and a body-hugging dress that showcased every curve I'd been hiding. The outfit transformed my already killer figure into something absolutely devastating.
I was born lucky—sharp cheekbones, flawless skin, and natural brown hair that caught light like spun gold.
Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I took stock of what I was working with. At 5'6", I was actually taller than Conrad when I wore heels. For years, I'd avoided them because I didn't want to emasculate his fragile fucking ego.
What a pathetic waste of good footwear that had been.
I actually laughed out loud at my own stupidity. How had I been such a doormat for so long?
After getting myself together, I grabbed my purse and was about to leave when I spotted Jeremiah's suit jacket draped over my couch.
Shit. I'd completely forgotten to return it again.
I hesitated for a second, then threw it over my arm. Might as well deal with it today.
I spent the entire day spoiling myself rotten—got a full manicure with nail art that cost more than some people's grocery budget, had my hair transformed into gorgeous Hollywood waves, treated myself to professional makeup that made me look like I belonged on a magazine cover, and went on a shopping spree that would probably max out my credit card.
But I didn't give a fuck. I was done being practical.
My final stop was this ultra-exclusive custom tailoring shop—the kind of place where celebrities and billionaires got their clothes made. Usually had a waiting list longer than my arm.
"Hi, I need a custom shirt made," I told the impeccably dressed sales associate, handing over Jeremiah's jacket.
"Absolutely! What are you looking for?" she asked with that polished customer service smile.
"This is my boyfriend's suit jacket, but I don't know his exact shirt measurements. Can you use this to create something custom?"
The boyfriend lie rolled off my tongue easily. I'd destroyed two of his shirts—the least I could do was replace one of them.
Since the man seemed to live in black, I figured I'd shake things up with white.
I refused to owe Jeremiah Winslet anything.
The woman examined the jacket carefully, her eyes stopping on the label inside: 'JW'.
Her expression shifted slightly—recognition mixed with surprise.
"Let me consult with our master tailor. Please make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back."
She disappeared into the back workshop with an elderly man sporting an impressive white beard. I watched them through the glass partition as she showed him the jacket, pointing specifically at that label.
The old man's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He looked out at me, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, and said something that made the saleswoman try to hide a smile.
"Could you come back here, please?" the woman called out.
I followed her through a serene courtyard into the workshop proper. The space was all exposed brick and vintage sewing machines—the kind of old-world craftsmanship that screamed money.
Other customers glanced up from their consultations, clearly appreciating the view. I was definitely bringing my A-game today.
"Good afternoon," I said warmly to the master tailor.
He nodded with barely contained amusement. "You're ordering this for your boyfriend?"
The way he emphasized 'boyfriend' made it clear he knew something I didn't.
"That's right. Is there a problem with making a shirt from the jacket measurements?"
The old man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Wouldn't it be simpler to bring him in for a proper fitting?"
"I want it to be a surprise. I accidentally ruined one of his shirts and thought I'd replace it without him knowing. This jacket is all I have to work with."
"Accidentally ruined his shirt..." His eyes were definitely twinkling now. "I see."
"So can you do it or not?"
"Oh, absolutely. Let me get your contact information, and I'll message you when it's finished."
We exchanged numbers, and I noticed he was trying really hard not to grin.
"What should I call you, miss?"
"Isabelle is fine."
"Winslet. Perfect. Head home, and I'll be in touch soon."
Oh, another Winslet.
I was confused. "Don't you need a deposit or anything?"
"Not necessary." He handed Jeremiah's jacket back to me.
"Shouldn't you take more detailed measurements?"
"Trust me, sweetheart. One look at this piece and I know everything I need to know. You're in good hands."
His phone started ringing, so I nodded politely and left him to his call.
Once I got home, I sent him a follow-up message: "White shirt, please. And thank you!"
By the time I dragged all my shopping bags up to my apartment, it was past 7 PM and I was emotionally and physically drained.
I finally checked my phone after ignoring it all day.
Conrad had sent a stream of lovey-dovey texts that made my stomach turn. I marked them all as read without responding.
But then I saw something that made my blood freeze.
A message from Skye with a photo of a fancy invitation: You're invited to my engagement party next Wednesday! Hope you can make it! ?
These two shameless pieces of shit were really going through with this charade.
I stared at the screen until my eyes started burning with unshed tears.
Do not fucking cry. Do not give them that satisfaction.
The sheer audacity of these people—carrying on their affair and then having the balls to invite me to celebrate it. How goddamn shameless could two people be?
I typed back: Wow, congratulations! Who's the lucky guy? This seems super sudden—you never mentioned seeing anyone serious.
I wanted to watch her squirm trying to explain this without admitting the truth.
Oh, you know him actually! ? You'll find out at the party!
Of course I fucking knew him.
Meanwhile, Conrad was still playing the coward, too chicken-shit to come clean about what he'd been doing behind my back. He was probably planning to string me along until the very last second.
These people had no shame whatsoever.
I wiped away the tears that had started falling despite my best efforts and opened the spy camera app I'd installed in my car.
Perfect timing. The two lovebirds were sitting in my BMW right now, probably thinking they were being so clever.
I cranked my phone volume all the way up, propped it against the microwave, and started heating up some leftover Chinese food while listening to their pathetic drama unfold.
They were having a full-blown fight. Conrad was demanding she get an abortion, but Skye was refusing to budge.
Conrad kept insisting that she was just a fuck buddy—convenient stress relief—while I was his real relationship. He wouldn't marry her or attend any engagement party.
For about two seconds, I almost believed he actually gave a shit about me.
Then reality crashed back down. I laughed so bitterly that it hurt my throat and pushed the food away, completely losing my appetite.
Looking around my cramped one-bedroom apartment that I'd been renting for exactly one year, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me.
Time to get the hell out of here.
I knew Conrad would eventually cave to family pressure and marry his baby mama. I also knew he'd never let me go without a fight.
Conrad's feelings for me might be real, but they were also selfish and cheap.
I was done dealing with both of their bullshit. Time to let these two assholes destroy each other.
The next morning, Conrad returned my car and came straight up to my apartment like he owned the place.
The second he walked through my door, his eyes zeroed in on the men's suit jacket draped over my couch.
"Belly, whose jacket is that?" he asked, setting my car keys on the coffee table with deliberate precision.
He recognized expensive tailoring when he saw it, but he also thought he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't cheat.
Poor, naive bastard.
"Exactly what it looks like. I'm seeing someone else now. We're done." I didn't waste time with bullshit explanations—direct and brutal had always been my style.
Conrad looked like I'd just told him Santa wasn't real. "Belly, come on..."
He wanted to ask if this was about Skye and the baby, but he couldn't bring himself to shatter the illusion he'd been living in.
"Is there anything else? Because if not, you can see yourself out."
I continued folding clothes into boxes without even glancing his way.
"You found out about something, didn't you? That's why you're doing this—to hurt me!" His voice cracked with desperation.
I kept packing my life into cardboard boxes, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.
Conrad completely lost his shit and grabbed my wrist, yanking me around to face him.
When he saw the tears I'd been trying to hide, his face went white.
"Found out about what, exactly?" I asked, jerking my arm out of his grip. "Don't fucking touch me. You're disgusting."
Conrad stood there like a statue. "So you do know. About everything."
"Every single detail! I'm doing us both a favor here. Let's cut our losses and never see each other again."
My voice was completely dead, like all the emotion had been drained out of me.
We stood in silence for what felt like hours.
"Just leave, Conrad. Let's both try to keep whatever dignity we have left."
I walked into my bedroom and shut the door firmly behind me, then collapsed on my bed and finally let myself fall apart.
Outside, I could hear Conrad's entire world crumbling to pieces.