Alle Kapitel von The Ice King's Fake Girlfriend: Kapitel 81 – Kapitel 87

A warm, electric shiver ran down Tiffany's spine, banishing any lingering residue of the morning's confrontation. She opened her mouth to reply, ready to match his earnest vulnerability with a sharp, teasing remark of her own, when the heavy oak door suddenly rattled again.This time, there was no violent pounding. Instead, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed through the room.Leo stopped hammering, looking up with a frown. "Are we expecting another uninvited visitor, or did your legal squad arrive with the speed of light?"Julian rose smoothly to his feet, dusting off his hands and instantly reclaiming that imposing, untouchable CEO aura. "Marcus doesn't knock. He uses a master key."Tiffany stood up beside him, her brow furrowing as she looked toward the frosted glass entryway. The silhouette standing outside didn't belong to Nathaniel, nor did it belong to a lawyer. It was tall, rigidly upright, and carried an unmistakable aura of archaic, terrifying a

Tiffany let out a soft sigh, watching the space where Nathaniel had just been standing like a pathetic ghost of her past. "I'm better than alright, Julian. I'm actually, finally, completely free." Julian's expression softened instantly, the terrifying corporate predator vanishing to reveal the man who had slowly, quietly stolen her heart. "Good. Because we have much better things to do today than deal with relics of your college years." "Oh? And what might those be, Mr. Ravencourt?" Tiffany tilted her chin up, a playful challenge dancing in her dark eyes. "Are you taking me to another terrifying board meeting, or did you actually manage to clear your schedule?" "I cleared my schedule," Julian said, closing the small distance between them and wrapping his arms securely around her waist. "Which brings us to project number one: Redesigning the penthouse." Tiffany blinked, a grin breaking across her face

Julian’s private phone buzzed against the polished mahogany of the newly installed bookshelf, breaking the quiet hum of jazz playing softly from the vintage speakers Tiffany had insisted on buying. Without looking at the screen, Julian continued sliding a stack of leather-bound architecture books onto the shelf, his fingers brushing against a row of bright, geometric bookends. "If that’s Arthur calling to remind me about the quarterly board review, tell him I’ve retired from corporate warfare to become a full-time interior decorator." Tiffany stepped out from the adjoining kitchen, wearing one of his oversized button-down shirts, a streak of turquoise paint smudged artfully across her cheek. She picked up the vibrating device, glanced at the display, and immediately sobered. "It's not Arthur," Tiffany said, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave as she held the phone out. "It's Arthur's executive se