Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Isabelle's POV
We sat across from each other eating in complete silence, neither of us saying a word. The quiet felt suffocating, loaded with everything that had happened and everything that was about to change.
After the absolute chaos of yesterday, I finally collapsed into bed late that night, but sleep had been restless and full of nightmares.
I slept until 10 AM the next morning.
My body felt like it had been hit by a fucking truck, but thankfully the swelling on my face had gone down considerably. My hands were still throbbing though—even brushing my teeth sent sharp pain shooting up my arms, a constant reminder of Conrad's attack.
I threw on casual clothes with shaking fingers and walked out to find Jeremiah exactly where I'd left him the night before—on the living room couch with a pillow on his lap, laptop balanced on top, wearing his frameless glasses while handling business like nothing earth-shattering had happened.
Next to him was a neatly folded blanket.
Had he slept out here all night? For me?
The thought made my chest feel tight and warm in a way that terrified me.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He looked up at me properly for the first time, and I saw something soft flicker in his eyes before he immediately returned his attention to his screen.
"Go downstairs for breakfast. After you eat, we'll do the test, then go get the marriage license." He didn't look up from his work.
My heart started hammering. "...Okay." I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I headed downstairs, my legs feeling unsteady.
This was moving way too fucking fast. So when he said "follow me," he meant marriage? Not dating first? Not getting to know each other? Just straight to a lifetime commitment?
My brain was still buzzing with panic, wondering if it was too late to back out now. But then I remembered Conrad's hands on me, his weight trapping me, and I knew I'd rather take my chances with Jeremiah's cold efficiency than face that nightmare alone.
"Good morning, Miss Blythe!" the housekeeper greeted me cheerfully.
"Morning," I managed, my voice still hoarse from yesterday's screaming.
Breakfast was steel-cut oats with fresh berries and Greek yogurt—exactly what my still-queasy stomach could handle. But every bite felt like swallowing around a lump of anxiety.
After eating, I wandered around the first floor, trying to process that this might actually become my home. The thought was both thrilling and absolutely terrifying.
The front yard was a classic English garden with perfectly manicured hedges, rose bushes, and a brick walkway lined with lavender. The backyard was more like a country estate—flagstone paths leading to a gazebo surrounded by a kidney-shaped swimming pool with a waterfall feature. Mature oak trees provided shade, and there was even a small herb garden near the kitchen windows.
It was beautiful. Peaceful. Everything my chaotic life had never been.
I stood there quietly, tears threatening to spill as the magnitude of what was happening hit me. Yesterday I'd been nearly assaulted in my shitty apartment. Today I was about to marry a man I barely knew in his fucking mansion.
My phone buzzed with a message from Gordon: Climbed 16 flights of stairs. My legs are fucking dead.
Did you piss off the elevator? It wouldn't let you in?
I remembered him gasping for breath when he'd burst into my apartment last night, and suddenly I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.
Wanted to use it, but when we got to the lobby, your call came through. The elevator had just gone up and there was a crowd waiting. Boss was worried about you, so he took the stairs. I couldn't exactly wait for the elevator while he was running.
They'd run up 16 flights of stairs? For me?
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. This man—this cold, untouchable CEO—had literally run up 16 flights of stairs because he thought I was in danger.
"Time to go," Jeremiah's voice suddenly appeared beside me.
I startled, quickly wiping my eyes. "Okay."
Today, Liam—the house manager I'd seen a few times when leaving work—was driving.
Gordon sat in the passenger seat handling paperwork, probably giving us privacy.
We'd switched to a different car, one with a privacy partition that rose the moment we got in, trapping me in an intimate space with the man I was about to marry.
I felt like I might have a panic attack sitting in the back with Jeremiah, both of us perfectly upright with what felt like an invisible wall of tension between us.
"If I'm not pregnant..." I started, then trailed off, my voice barely a whisper.
"If you're not, we'll try again. Don't stress about it."
Try again...
My face went nuclear. The casual way he talked about us having sex again made my stomach flip with a mixture of terror and something else I didn't want to examine.
"Did you bring your birth certificate?" he asked.
"Yeah." My voice came out small and uncertain.
"Any requirements for me?" Jeremiah turned to look at me directly, and the intensity of his gaze made me want to hide.
I glanced at him quickly, then looked away, my heart racing. "I'm still... getting used to all this..."
The understatement of the fucking century. I was about to marry a man I'd slept with once while drunk, who'd saved me from assault, who I worked for, who I barely knew beyond his coffee preferences.
"That's fine. We'll take it slow."
The gentleness in his voice almost broke me.
At the hospital, we went straight to the nurse's station where our appointment was already set up—no waiting in line. Of course. Because Jeremiah Winslet didn't wait for anything.
I followed behind him like a puppet, feeling completely out of control of my own life.
Until I was lying on the examination table with Jeremiah standing right beside me, and reality crashed back down.
"Maybe you should step out?" I asked shyly, suddenly mortified.
"No need, this will be quick. Just remove your pants," the female doctor said with a smile. She'd obviously been briefed beforehand.
I gripped my clothes tighter, my face burning with embarrassment. "Jeremiah, please just wait outside..."
"Sure."
God, this was mortifying—they were doing a transvaginal ultrasound to see if I was carrying his baby. The intimacy of it all made me want to crawl under the examination table and disappear.
Less than two minutes later, I emerged from the room, legs shaky and emotions all over the place.
Jeremiah led me directly to his aunt's office, his hand warm and steady on my lower back.
"Aunt Sarah."
He walked over to her desk and pulled me along, indicating I should sit down.
I obediently took the chair, trying to look normal when I felt like I was falling apart. "Hi, Dr. Castillo."
"Hello, sweetheart!" She beamed while pulling up my results on her computer. "I heard you came to Grandpa's birthday party the other day, but then you had to leave early. Such a shame we didn't get to meet properly!"
I smiled awkwardly, remembering my humiliating escape from that disaster.
Did the entire family know we'd had a "fight"?
"You're not pregnant, Isabelle. You've just been eating irregularly." Sarah frowned. "Have you been skipping meals again?"
Relief flooded through me so intensely I almost started crying right there in her office. Thank god I wasn't pregnant. I wasn't ready for that level of complicated.
Though she was right about my eating habits. Between Conrad's drama and everything else, I'd barely been able to keep food down for weeks.
"Jeremiah, this is your fault! First you let her get so hungry she ended up in the hospital, and now you're still not taking proper care of her!"
I wanted to sink through the floor. His family thought he was already supposed to be taking care of me.
Sarah continued, "When you don't eat regularly, your stomach rebels and sends signals. Everyone's body reacts differently—nausea is normal, but you need to eat proper meals and stop living on junk food."
"You're absolutely right, Aunt Sarah. I'll make sure she eats properly."
Jeremiah placed his hands on my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze, and I had to fight the urge to lean into his touch.
"Since you're here for a gynecological checkup, I'll add this—if you're planning to try for a baby, start taking folic acid first. You're only twenty-two, there's no rush. Take it for a month or two before trying to conceive."
Dr. Castillo's advice was very matter-of-fact, but I couldn't bear to listen to any more talk about us making babies when I could barely process being in the same room as him.
When we finally escaped her office, I felt like I could breathe again, but my hands were still shaking.
"You haven't been eating lately?" Jeremiah casually took my hand as we walked, and the simple contact sent electricity up my arm.
I didn't hide it. "I've been dealing with some personal stuff and lost my appetite."
I tried to pull my hand away, suddenly overwhelmed by his touch, but he held on tighter.
"Mm." Jeremiah didn't pry further, but I could feel his eyes on me.
I wrestled with myself for a long time, anxiety clawing at my throat, before deciding I needed to tell him about Conrad. I gathered my courage and stopped walking just outside the hospital entrance, my heart hammering.
"Jeremiah, about Conrad—you know he's my ex. The woman we ran into yesterday was..."
Jeremiah looked at me like I was a child confessing to breaking something precious. He touched my head gently, interrupting me, and the tenderness of the gesture made my eyes well up.
"It's in the past. Don't think about him anymore. I don't care about your history—that wasn't mine to have. But your future belongs to me, and that's what matters."
I looked up at him, and for a moment the intensity in his eyes took my breath away. He meant it. Every word.
"Stop overthinking, kid. Let's go eat." He smiled slightly—actually smiled—and took my hand, leading me toward the street.
That smile hit me like a freight train. He'd actually smiled at me, and it transformed his entire face from intimidating to devastatingly beautiful.
I felt my mood lift for the first time in days, but underneath the relief was a terrifying realization: I was already starting to fall for him.
He brought me to Le Jardin, and sitting in that elegant restaurant where everything had started felt surreal.
We sat at the same window table from last time, and I couldn't help asking, "Who was that woman you were dining with before?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"My ex-girlfriend."
My heart dropped. "Oh?"
Jeremiah finished ordering and looked at me seriously, like he could sense my panic.
"She just got back from abroad, so I took her to dinner. But don't worry—there's nothing between us anymore."
Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion about why I cared so much.
"Do you... remember how you got home that night?" I asked nervously, dreading the answer.
"I wasn't drunk."
His tone was as cold and matter-of-fact as always, but the words hit me like a slap.
I awkwardly took a sip of water, not daring to meet his eyes, mortification burning through me.
So he'd been faking it. He knew I'd slapped him, probably heard all the terrible things I'd said about him too. He'd let me make a complete fool of myself.
Could this get any more embarrassing?
"Jeremiah."
"Yeah?"
"Could we... not tell people at work? I don't want it to affect your professional life." The lie came out stilted and awkward.
I wasn't worried about affecting his work—I was terrified about affecting mine. If my department found out I'd married the CEO, how would I ever be taken seriously again? They'd think I'd slept my way to the top.
He was quiet for a moment, and I saw something that looked like hurt flash across his face before he nodded in agreement.
I could tell he wasn't happy about it, and guilt twisted in my stomach.
"Do you have any requirements for me?" I quickly changed the subject, desperate to move past my selfishness.
"Just don't do anything illegal." His answer was surprisingly straightforward, but there was a coolness in his tone now.
When our steaks arrived, Jeremiah didn't let me cut my own. He sliced my meat into perfect pieces and slid the plate in front of me before cutting his own, and the simple act of care made my throat tight with emotion.
I watched him carefully while I ate, trying to figure out what I'd gotten myself into.
Maybe being married to him wouldn't be so terrible after all. Maybe I could learn to be happy with this strange, cold, unexpectedly gentle man.
During dinner, I explained my family situation—growing up with a single mother, not knowing my father, all the shame and whispers that had followed me my entire life. As expected, he didn't seem to care at all. It was like as long as it was me, nothing else mattered.
That made something warm and dangerous bloom in my chest, and I realized with growing panic that I was already in way deeper than I'd planned to be.