All Chapters of Ice King Obsession : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The apartment felt impossibly heavy that evening, every shadow seeming to stretch longer than it should, every quiet tick of the clock louder than normal. Sheila sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, staring blankly at the floor. The muted glow of the city lights through the blinds did little to lift the gloom that had settled over her.Atticus stood near the window, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the skyline. He hadn’t turned to look at her for minutes, though Sheila could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her. Neither of them had spoken since the press conference that morning—a day that had seemed to unravel everything they’d worked to protect.Carter had been relentless. Every angle of their interactions, every stolen glance, every touch that wasn’t meant for public consumption, had been twisted into stories and rumors. By the time the conference ended, the media frenzy was in full swing. Headlines screamed about “the s

The morning sun broke through the blinds in thin, sharp lines, cutting across Sheila’s bedroom in patterns that made the world feel too bright, too awake. She sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders hunched, fingers tightening around her phone. Today was another game day, another chance to perform her role perfectly, yet her mind refused to cooperate. Every press conference, every public interaction with Atticus, and now every game felt like navigating a battlefield she hadn’t signed up for.Her thoughts drifted to last night—Atticus’s messages, the fleeting intimacy, the unspoken apologies in the heat of their closeness. That brief window of connection had been a refuge, yet this morning, it felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. Her chest tightened at the memory of his touch, his lips, the way he had held her close as if to shield her from the world’s scrutiny.Sheila got dressed mechanically, the crisp lines of her professional attire doing little to anchor her scattered t

Sheila didn’t sleep that night. Not really. The images from the headlines, the way his hand rested casually on her ex-girlfriend’s arm, the easy laughter—every detail had etched itself into her mind like a brand. By morning, the apartment felt colder, emptier, even though the space hadn’t changed. She moved mechanically, dressed in silence, and left without so much as a glance at her phone.The arena was loud and chaotic, but Sheila felt detached, as if she were observing from behind a thick glass wall. The players’ shouts, the clash of sticks, the squeak of skates—it all felt distant, muted, unreal. Her mind replayed the photos over and over, the sensation of betrayal heavy in her chest. Every time she saw Atticus across the ice, something in her stomach twisted. He was there, focused, commanding, yet somehow the intimacy she had thought was theirs now felt impossible.She approached her usual spot at the edge of the rink, clipboard in hand, trying to anchor herself in her work. But

Sheila sat on the edge of her bed, trembling slightly, her hands twisting in her lap. The apartment was quiet, almost unbearably so, the faint hum of the city outside seeping through the windows like a reminder of everything she could no longer control. She had avoided him all day, had tried to bury herself in work, in numbers, in anything that could distract her from the ache in her chest—but it had followed her, relentless, unyielding.When the door clicked open, she felt her stomach clench. Atticus stepped inside, casual at first glance, but his eyes held the storm he always carried beneath his calm exterior. He didn’t speak, didn’t announce himself, just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.Sheila’s throat tightened. She wanted to look away, to retreat into herself, but something in her snapped.“Why?” she whispered, voice trembling, almost lost in the air.Atticus frowned. “Why what?” he asked, though the question was faint, uncertain.“Why do you treat me like I don’t mat

The stadium buzzed with energy, but to Sheila, it felt distant—like she was watching everything through a fogged window. She hadn’t shown up for the semifinals, hadn’t even considered stepping into the arena. Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the aftermath of everything that had happened—the pressure, the media storm, the heartbreak that had clawed at her since the breakup.Her apartment felt emptier than usual. The television cast a soft glow across the room, but even that couldn’t make the world feel real. She flipped through channels absently until a sports network paused her attention: highlights of the semifinals game. Atticus Finch’s name appeared repeatedly on the screen, commanding headlines, commanding attention, commanding respect.Sheila’s chest tightened. She had watched him in those highlights before, but this time, the exhilaration of the game felt like a knife twisting inside her. Every shot he took, every perfect pass, every calculated movement—she saw him not just as