Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Isabelle's POV
I woke up to the most excruciating stomach pain I'd ever experienced.
When I finally managed to turn on the lights, I realized it was already evening. I'd been unconscious for hours, and now I could barely fucking move. The pain was like someone was twisting a knife in my gut.
Since moving back from London over a year ago, I'd been pretty much a hermit. Taylor and Gordon were literally the only people I could call in an emergency.
Taylor's phone went straight to voicemail, so I tried Gordon. He was still milking his "food poisoning" leave, but thank god he actually picked up.
"What fresh hell is happening now?" Gordon answered with his usual charm.
"Gordon..." I was drenched in cold sweat, feeling like I might pass out again.
He immediately picked up on the panic in my voice. "Shit, are you okay? Where are you? Can you move?"
The questions were coming too fast. I could barely think straight. "Just... come get me... please..." I managed before everything went dark around the edges.
What felt like minutes later, I heard someone absolutely demolishing my front door.
CRASH. The sound of wood completely giving way.
"Isabelle! Fucking hell, what did you do to yourself?" A voice that definitely wasn't Gordon's, filled with a mixture of fury and genuine concern.
Strong arms swept me up, and I was immediately surrounded by that familiar sandalwood scent that somehow made everything feel safer.
When I finally came to, I was in a pristine private hospital room that probably cost more per night than my rent.
"You're awake." That same devastating voice.
I slowly turned my head and nearly had a heart attack. Jeremiah Winslet was standing there in his signature black-on-black ensemble, looking like he'd stepped out of a fucking fashion magazine. That same intense stare that had undressed me with his eyes on our first night together.
Jesus Christ, why was my brain going there right now?
"Mr. Winslet? What the hell are you doing here?" My face immediately started burning with embarrassment.
"Gordon's still playing dead with his fake food poisoning."
Jeremiah had his hands casually shoved in his pockets, not saying much, just watching me with those penetrating dark eyes that seemed to see straight through my soul.
"Thanks for... this." I gestured weakly at the room. Here he was again, showing up when I was at my absolute lowest. Like some beautiful, expensive guardian angel I couldn't shake.
Was the universe seriously trying to superglue us together at this point?
"Still hurting?" he asked.
"Not as much."
"That instant ramen looked delicious."
He must have seen the abandoned cup noodles on my kitchen counter.
"Where's your boyfriend?" Jeremiah was studying my face like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"He died yesterday."
I didn't have the energy to deal with him judging my life choices on top of everything else I was going through.
"Hm." A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. "Best news I've heard all week."
A doctor walked in before I could process that comment.
"Jeremiah, here's her medication for the gastritis. She needs to take these religiously. If everything looks good tomorrow, she can go home. And you—" she pointed at him accusingly, "—take better care of her!"
This fifty-something doctor was clearly comfortable giving him shit, which meant family.
"Yes ma'am, Aunt Sarah." Jeremiah took the pill bottles like a scolded teenager.
Aunt Sarah. Great. Now his family was going to think we were a thing.
They chatted by the door for several minutes before she left, probably getting the full rundown on my pathetic life.
"Can I get discharged tonight?" I asked desperately, needing to escape this situation.
Jeremiah set the medication on my bedside table and sat on the edge of my bed, way too close for comfort. "Absolutely not."
I couldn't help but notice the faint bruising on his left cheek and felt a stab of guilt about slapping him the other night. I'd probably been the first person to hit him in decades.
He didn't seem bothered though. His phone kept buzzing with what sounded like important business calls, but he refused to leave my side.
"Mr. Winslet, your dinner order arrived."
A polished young woman entered carrying bags from what looked like a very expensive restaurant.
Jeremiah finally moved his ass off my bed so she could set up the meal.
I stared in disbelief at the spread—three gourmet courses plus soup, all from Le Jardin. This was probably a week's salary worth of food.
"Eat something. I ordered this for you," Jeremiah said, unwrapping silverware and placing it in my hands. "Special price: four hundred and four dollars. Don't forget to PayPal me."
I looked at those ridiculously elegant hands as I took the fork. This was literally my first real meal since yesterday's disaster.
He was basically calling me a 404 error—brain not found. Fair assessment, honestly.
I had to admit, starving myself over Conrad's betrayal wasn't exactly my smartest move.
"Got any friends who can stay overnight?" Jeremiah asked.
"I'll be fine. I'm not going to die from some stomach issues."
"Alright, I've got meetings to handle. That's Secretary White outside if you need anything. Or just text me directly."
Jeremiah checked his expensive watch and headed for the door, then suddenly stopped and turned back.
"Since your boyfriend just died, have you reconsidered my previous offer?"
I nearly choked on a piece of perfectly cooked salmon.
"Jeremiah, be a decent human being for five minutes. I really don't want to deal with dating anyone right now."
Ever since he'd discovered the Conrad situation, he'd been circling me like a shark. It felt calculated, like he had some kind of master plan.
"Fair enough. I won't bring it up again." His expression remained completely neutral as he walked out.
Watching him leave, I suddenly felt like a complete bitch. The man had literally saved my life tonight, and I was treating him like garbage.
Third Person POV
At Trouvaille, an upscale bar in Manhattan's financial district, Jeremiah was methodically working through his second whiskey.
Sitting across from him was his cousin Nathan Foster, a successful venture capitalist who'd known Jeremiah since childhood.
"I've never seen a woman reject you before. And she called you by your first name like you're equals or something. She's got serious balls. No wonder you're obsessed with her."
"I'm not obsessed," Jeremiah replied, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Bullshit. This isn't obsession?" Nathan leaned back in his chair. "Dude, you mention her every time we hang out. You telling me you don't have feelings for this girl? Look at your neck—those hickeys still haven't completely faded."
Nathan shook his head with obvious amusement.
Jeremiah rubbed his temples, acknowledging the truth he'd been avoiding. Lately, she consumed his thoughts. Just seeing her face improved his entire mood, even when she was being difficult.
His phone buzzed with a text: I'm sorry about earlier, Mr. Winslet.
Don't worry about it. He replied within seconds.
Thank you for everything tonight.
Yeah.
[$404 transfer] For the dinner
Jeremiah paused mid-sip and immediately declined the payment.
You can buy me dinner next time.
He watched the typing indicator appear and disappear several times, but no response came through.
His dark eyes held a hint of lazy satisfaction.
"Nathan's absolutely right," chimed in Miles Lawrence, another longtime friend. "If you didn't care about her, why the dramatic rescue? Calling 911 would've been way simpler."
Jeremiah stayed quiet, but his mind drifted to her expressive eyes—like looking into clear water, beautiful and transparent, hiding nothing.
Isabelle's POV
The next day, Jeremiah handled my discharge paperwork and insisted on driving me home.
"You're moving?" He surveyed my apartment, which looked like a tornado had hit it. Boxes everywhere, stuff scattered across every surface.
"Yeah."
I was staring at where my front door used to be before he'd completely destroyed it.
"This place seems decent. Why the sudden move?"
He wandered around my disaster zone, spotting his suit jacket still draped over my couch where I'd left it.
"My ex just died. Don't want his ghost coming back to haunt me."
I had absolutely no idea how to politely get rid of him.
He made himself comfortable on my couch, clearly settling in for the long haul.
"You're the one who broke my door?" I asked.
"Yeah."
I felt a headache coming on. "A replacement door costs three thousand dollars. A locksmith costs thirty bucks. Did your brain completely malfunction?"
Looking at my pathetic pile of belongings, the reality of my situation hit me hard. Moving was complicated and expensive, and finding a decent place in my budget would be nearly impossible.
"I knew you were dying," Jeremiah said, crossing his legs with casual arrogance. "When do you need to be out?"
After dealing with Conrad's manipulative bullshit for years, hearing similar dismissive language from Jeremiah made my stomach turn.
"Before next Wednesday."
Conrad was the type who never gave up on anything he wanted. Even with an engagement and a baby on the way, he'd still come looking for me if I didn't completely disappear.
"Since the door's already destroyed, why not move tonight?"
"Move where exactly?" I grabbed a water bottle from my fridge and tossed it his way. He caught it effortlessly, like everything else in his life came easily.
"Move in with me."