Love On Ice: Don’t Leave Me, My Charming Liar

Chapter 147: Crash! The mirror shattered as she hurled it to the floor, shards scattering across the ground. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles white with tension. Humiliated. Publicly. This was unthinkable. She should have fired Margaret ages ago. But Margaret was gone now. Fired. By Ethan. For Nyla. Callie's rage flared again, hotter this time. Great. Ethan had defended Nyla. That woman. Callie's lips twisted into a bitter snarl, her expression so dark that anyone walking in might have fled in terror. News of the incident reached Ethan soon enough.

Jackson delivered a succinct report. "If that's the case," Ethan said evenly, "let Callie handle Margaret." Jackson hesitated, glancing at his boss. "But Miss Green was wrongfully accused. Shouldn't this be addressed?" Regardless of how much Ethan refused to admit it, Jackson knew his boss had something for Nyla. His actions were loud and clear. "Miss Green was upset that day," Jackson added cautiously. "Perhaps... it might help if you cleared the air between you two." Ethan looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto Jackson.

The man rarely overstepped, but there was no mistaking the implication in his words. As he leaned back in his chair, Ethan's tone turned sharp. "Do you have a thing for her?" Jackson stiffened, lowering his head quickly. "No, sir. It's just... obvious that Miss Green matters to you. If you didn't care, she wouldn't still be here." The office fell into an uneasy silence. The sound of Ethan's pen tapping rhythmically against the desk filled the void, the tension building with each measured beat. Ł@ŧє$τ ¢ђαþ†êяş ίη galñøνêļş.çøм Finally, Ethan spoke, his voice detached, almost cold.

"You're reading too much into it. We're just using each other." The words weren't his own; they were Nyla's. He was simply repeating them. It was both a reminder and a warning to himself. He and Nyla could never be together. Margaret had disappeared without a trace from Ulares, erased as if she had never existed. Callie emerged from the depths of the basement, her expression blank, yet her eyes betrayed a mix of coldness and subtle thrill.

A handkerchief was extended to her by a bodyguard, which she accepted, noticing the inadvertent bloodstains on her fingers before efficiently cleaning them off, her lips quirking slightly. "Handle this quietly, and there's no need to involve my father, got it?" she commanded, handing back the handkerchief with a smile that mingled coldness with intrigue. . . .