Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Isabelle's POV
After dinner, just because I made an offhand comment about whether our casual outfits were too sloppy for getting our marriage license, Jeremiah dragged me to a private styling boutique. He had them do my makeup, put me in a proper outfit, and even hired a professional photographer to document the whole thing.
Such a typical perfectionist CEO move.
We spent two hours getting me camera-ready before heading to the courthouse, only to find out we had to change again anyway—into matching white button-downs for the official photos.
First time getting married, no experience with any of this shit.
But at least I now had our marriage certificate in my hands. I was officially Mrs. Jeremiah fucking Winslet.
Sitting in the car on the way home, I stared at the document that had just completely changed my life, emotions crashing over me in waves.
I'd fantasized countless times about marrying Conrad—white dress, church ceremony, the whole fairy tale. But that had just been me being naive about a complete asshole.
I never imagined I'd get married so impulsively, and I definitely never thought I'd end up with such a powerful, wealthy man. The whole thing felt surreal, like I was living someone else's life.
I didn't know if we'd have a happy ending, but right now, in this moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in months—safe. Protected. Maybe even... hopeful?
Isabelle, will you regret this?
I asked myself honestly, staring at his name next to mine on the official paperwork.
I didn't know. Everything had happened so fucking fast.
But I could see that after we'd slept together, this man had repeatedly, sincerely asked if I wanted to try being his wife. His eyes had been completely genuine every time.
He'd literally broken down two doors for me. Saved me from assault. Married me within 24 hours of that nightmare.
Maybe destiny really had tied us together with steel cables.
So no, I probably wouldn't regret it. I'd rather take my chances with him than face the world alone.
Without realizing it, exhaustion finally caught up with me and I fell asleep, completely forgetting when my head had ended up on his shoulder.
"We're home." Jeremiah's voice was soft, almost tender.
I'd gotten professional makeup done today, and my naturally fair skin looked even more radiant under the careful application. My long lashes fluttered as I slowly woke up.
"Oh god, sorry..." I quickly brushed the foundation transfer off his expensive suit shoulder, mortified.
Jeremiah watched my flustered movements with obvious amusement, the corner of his mouth actually twitching upward into what might have been a smile.
"Long day," he said, shifting to give me space to sit up properly.
"Yeah, just a bit."
The understatement of the fucking century.
Back at the house, it wasn't quite dinnertime yet, so I sat there awkwardly, not sure what the hell I was supposed to do as the new wife of a billionaire CEO.
"I have a business dinner tonight. Don't wait up for me."
"Okay." Relief flooded through me—I needed time to process everything that had happened.
He left with Gordon right after that.
I let out a huge sigh and practically melted into the couch.
"Holy shit," I muttered to the empty room, covering my face with my hands.
I was married. To my boss. After knowing him for like five minutes.
What the fuck had I done?
After a few minutes of mild panic, I went upstairs to what was now our shared bedroom. Our bedroom. The thought made my stomach flip.
I started unpacking the luggage they'd brought from my destroyed apartment last night, trying to distract myself from the enormity of what I'd just committed to.
There wasn't much—since I'd only been back from England for a year, I'd been living pretty minimally. It didn't take long to put my pathetic collection of belongings away in his massive walk-in closet.
I wandered into his study, taking inventory of what might become my workspace too. The left side had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and an elegant tea station. The right side housed his executive desk with multiple monitors. In the middle was an empty table that looked like it was waiting for someone to claim it.
I thought for a moment, then pulled out my phone to call him, but noticed a new Instagram notification.
@jeremiahwinslet started following you.
That sneaky bastard had found my Instagram.
I couldn't help smiling as I opened our DMs and typed the first message.
Hey there, Mr. Winslet. You've got me for life — handle with care.
His response came almost immediately: Hi, Miss Blythe. You're the boss now — and I'm happily under your command.
Wait, that sounded way more submissive than I'd expected from him. My face heated up as I stared at the message.
Was he actually... flirting with me through Instagram DMs? This whole situation was so fucking bizarre.
That evening, after dinner and getting ready for bed, I lay under the covers texting my mom.
Susannah was in Australia, so it would be morning there now.
[Marriage certificate photo] Hey Mom, I got married.
Jesus Christ, Isabelle! It's 6 AM here. I wasn't even awake, but this definitely got my attention.
Haha sorry... surprise?
Your husband looks very handsome. Please tell me he's good to you?
He seems to be. It's... complicated.
Everything's complicated, sweetheart. The question is whether he makes you feel safe.
That word hit me right in the chest. Safe. Yeah, I did feel safe with him.
We chatted back and forth until I eventually drifted off, my phone still in my hand.
Late that night, Jeremiah's quiet knock didn't wake me up.
He stood by the bed for a moment, noticing my phone with our conversation still open on the screen. A small smile crossed his face as he gently took the phone and plugged it into the charger, then carefully tucked the blanket around my sleeping form.
After his own nighttime routine, instead of getting into bed, he went to the study to catch up on work.
The sound of him typing eventually penetrated my sleep and woke me up.
I opened my eyes groggily and saw the study light still on. My bladder was also making demands, so I slowly got up.
To get to the bathroom, I had to walk through the closet and past the study.
When I shuffled past his workspace, Jeremiah looked up from his laptop.
He was wearing gray loungewear with the top two buttons undone, revealing hints of his collarbone. Behind his frameless glasses, those intense dark eyes tracked my sleepy movements.
"Did I wake you up?"
I shook my head, suddenly very aware that I was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear. "Why aren't you sleeping yet?"
"Still have some documents to review. Go back to bed."
"Don't stay up too late," I mumbled, continuing to the bathroom.
When I came back, Jeremiah had just shut his laptop.
Should I say something? The silence felt loaded, and I was suddenly wide awake and nervous as hell.
I dove under the covers and squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to sleep.
A few minutes later, the mattress dipped as he settled beside me.
I didn't dare open my eyes or move, hyperaware of his presence just inches away. I'd momentarily forgotten we were actually married now—that sharing a bed was now completely normal and expected.
My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it.
"Good night, Isabelle," he said softly.
I kept my breathing steady, feigning sleep, but every nerve in my body was on high alert.
The next morning, Jeremiah's voice gently pulled me from sleep.
"Hey. Eat breakfast first, then you can go back to sleep if you want."
He seemed to be in a genuinely good mood—there was warmth in his expression that was completely different from his usual intimidating CEO persona.
I rubbed my eyes and squinted at my phone.
How was this man so fucking energetic? He'd been up working until god knows when and was already dressed and ready at 7:30 AM.
He stood by the walk-in closet, completely unbothered about changing his shirt in front of me, like we'd been married for years instead of less than 24 hours.
I quickly pulled the blanket over my head to hide my wandering eyes and the blush creeping up my neck.
"Want to ride to work with me?" he asked while buttoning his crisp white shirt.
"No, I'll drive myself..." I started to say, then remembered my car situation. "Actually, is my car still at my old place?"
"Gordon brought it back last night. It's in the garage. Keys are on your nightstand."
Of course he'd thought of everything.
"Thanks." I kept my eyes covered, not daring to peek until I heard his footsteps retreating.
I only emerged from my blanket fortress after Jeremiah left and closed the door.
My phone buzzed with a message from Gordon: How does it feel to be pursued by the big boss?
Pursued? I'll take that as congratulations.
Why "pursued"? We'd literally fucked our way into this marriage after I got too drunk to make rational decisions.
I laughed, but it came out a little hysterical. The whole thing had been such a chaotic mess—I'd been so stressed and malnourished I thought I was pregnant, creating this massive misunderstanding that somehow led to... this.
The housekeeper had prepared what looked like a nutritionally balanced breakfast worthy of a five-star hotel. I'd never been treated like this in my entire life, and honestly, it felt pretty fucking amazing.
"Mrs. Winslet, Mr. Winslet asked you to take this with you."
Yesterday I was "Miss Blythe," today I was "Mrs. Winslet." The change in title made everything feel more real and terrifying.
She handed me a small, elegant thermal bottle.
"It's warm milk that maintains the perfect temperature. Mr. Winslet insisted you take it and drink it throughout the day."
Was Jeremiah too reserved to give me this himself? Having the housekeeper relay his concern was actually kind of endearing.
"That's very thoughtful of him."
I shouldered my bag, took the expensive-looking thermal bottle, and headed to the garage, trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was apparently my life now.