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

Chapter 150: Shaking off the thought, she turned her focus back to the door. "Where are you going?" Ethan's deep voice broke through the silence, stopping her in her tracks. "I have something to take care of," she replied, her hand still on the doorknob. "To see Murray?" His tone was laced with irritation. "You two seem to be getting along well. Must feel nice, huh? Having someone so eager to back you up." Nyla's grip tightened, frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. Why did he always assume the worst? Taking a steadying breath, she said evenly, "It's not like that.

I really do have something important to handle." "Really?" His gaze was sharp, probing. "Didn't you promise to do whatever I asked as long as my medical team treated your sister-in-law?" Her stomach twisted. "Yeah. What do you need me to do?" Ethan leaned back against the couch, resting his head on one hand. The shadows accentuated his already sharp features, making his expression unreadable. "There's a dinner tomorrow," he said at last. "Rodney's hosting. I want you to go in my place." Nyla froze, her head snapping up to meet his gaze. Disbelief washed over her. "What...

did you just say?" His voice was calm, almost too calm. "Was I unclear?" Rodney Barnes-the man who had once tried to drug her. If Ethan hadn't shown up in time... And now Ethan wanted her to meet with him? Silence stretched between them like a taut wire, ready to snap. gⱯlnσνℓs․cøm is packed with great reads Finally, Nyla's shoulders sagged. Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. "I understand." She turned and walked out, her steps heavy and deliberate. In the car, she forced herself to breathe, pushing the rising lump in her throat back down.

She didn't have time to fall apart-not now. Just hold on a little longer, she told herself. Soon, this would all be over. Soon, she could leave and never look back. Jaxton had indeed been brought back. In Murray's villa, a frail man with wire-rimmed glasses knelt on the polished floor, his appearance not particularly disheveled despite the evident fear etched into his face. Nyla stepped closer. The man flinched but didn't dare to lift his head. His entire frame trembled, as if the effort to remain upright might break him. She crouched down, studying his face.

The resemblance to the photo was undeniable-though time had etched deeper lines and dulled his features. "This is him. Ask him yourself," Murray said lazily from his place on the sofa, one arm draped over the backrest, his demeanor utterly nonchalant. Nyla's gaze flicked toward the servants stationed in the room. Murray caught the silent command immediately. . . .