The bedroom door slammed behind Isla with satisfying force. She pressed her back against it as if the solid wood could shield her from the memory of Damien's lips on hers. Her fingers rose instinctively to trace her mouth—still warm from his kiss.
“No.” She shoved away from the door, pacing the length of the extravagant bedroom like a caged panther. The room was a masterpiece of cold elegance—all steel grays and icy blues, the furniture so pristine it might never have been touched. Just like its owner. “It was all for the cameras. Just for the damned cameras. It meant absolutely nothing!” She kept repeating to herself like someone fighting a powerful spell. But her traitorous body remembered too well: the firm pressure of his mouth, the possessive grip of his hands at her waist, the way her pulse had stuttered when he had pulled her close. “Gosh! Things were going too fast.” She was still thinking when a sudden knock on the door sounded, cutting off her spiral thoughts. “Who is that?” She called out even though she already guessed who was at the door. Without saying anything, she straightened and strode to the door to pull it open. And there he was, Damien Blackwood, standing right outside. Isla’s throat went a little tighter. For a second, neither of them moved. Then, still without a word, she turned and walked back inside, leaving the door open. She heard him step in and the door closing again. Damien leaned against the doorframe, watching her with that infuriating half-smile. Then, with a sharp spin, she turned around to face him, flashing accusing eyes. "We need rules," Isla snapped. Damien's eyebrow arched. "Do enlighten me." “What you did back there was not good enough, I just want to know why you kissed me like that…you took me by surprise. You know you can't just…” "Touching my wife?" Damien pushed off the door, advancing with predatory grace. "That wasn't a surprise, Isla. It was strategy." "Strategy?" "To make them believe." He stopped just inches away, close enough that she caught the subtle spice of his cologne. "Unless you would prefer the world sees this marriage for the farce it is?" Her breath hitched. "There are other ways—" "None as convincing." His gaze dropped to her mouth. "And none that infuriate Nate quite so effectively." The mention of her ex was a slap. Isla stiffened, but Damien wasn't finished. “God I hate this.” She whispered. She hated how he always appeared a step ahead of everyone. How effortlessly he always seemed in control. He closed the remaining distance, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "If we're doing this, you need to commit. No flinching when I touch you." His fingers brushed her waist, igniting sparks where they grazed. "No hesitation when I kiss you." His breath warmed her ear as he whispered, "And no running when this gets... complicated." Every nerve in her body came alive. She should've stepped back. Should've shoved him away. Instead, she held her ground, her chin lifting in defiance even as her pulse raced. "Fine," she bit out. "But I want answers. Why me? You could've chosen anyone." Damien's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're Nate's greatest mistake—the one prize he can never reclaim." Nate's greatest mistake? What did he mean? And Just how deep did the rift between him and Nate go? After some time, she hummed, nodded once, and responded in a much lower tone. “Well, next time, no surprises,” Damien smirked, his expression still not hiding his amusement. “Fair enough.” He nodded back. Damien’s eyes stayed for a moment longer, as if testing her limits, before finally pulling back with deliberate slowness. Then, without another word, he left the room, leaving her standing there. Isla stood back frozen, staring blankly at the spot where he had just left. A few seconds after Damien left, Isla remained still, staring at the same door as the same set of questions kept repeating. Then, finally, she let out a resigned sigh; she turned, went near the bed, and collapsed on it. She let her head fall back, closing her eyes briefly as if that alone could strip her mind of everything. She needed some distraction. She reached for her phone, unlocked it with a swipe, and started to scroll search for anything that wasn’t Damien Blackwood. But the moment the screen lit up, her face cracked. A flood of notifications filled up her screen, an overwhelming heap of messages, tags, and mentions that made her abdomen ache. The internet was on fire. And it was on fire with the very things she was just trying to avoid. Her name and that of Damien were everywhere. Hundreds of people had tagged her. Notifications were flashing with an absurd number of alerts. And as she reluctantly opened social media, the barrage of headlines and accompanying posts left her stunned. Pictures from her red carpet with Damien were plastered across the internet, capturing every moment in agonizing detail. Particularly the moment when Damien had kissed her. “Good gracious!” She murmured as she scrolled down, the comments were even worse. "That didn't take long. Someone's got a type." "How long before this billionaire dumps her too?" Then Sophia's text appeared: "Tell me this isn't true, Issy." Isla's jaw tightened. She had been through this routine of media storms before when she married Nate, but this one was way more brutal. The sheer viciousness of their labels was worse than she had anticipated. Soon, her attention shifted to her call log, her head feeling hot at the sight of the several missed calls. The numbers belonged to her parents they had both called multiple times. And seeing what she had just seen, she didn’t even have to guess why. Isla hurled the phone onto the bed like it had burned her. Outside, the city glittered—beautiful, brutal, and utterly indifferent. Somewhere out there, Nate and Vanessa were probably laughing. Somewhere out there, Damien was already three moves ahead. And here she stood, caught between revenge and ruin, with no idea which side of the line she would land on when this was over.Isabella’s arrival at the downtown hotel room was still very fresh, yet the walls were already starting to feel too tight for her. Her breathing kept coming in short bursts, her arms folding and unfolding by themselves as she walked from one wall to the next furiously. The memory of how she left Damien’s house had returned again to torment her. This was probably the twelfth time she was flashing back to that night. Her first ejection was bad, but this second one was ten times worse. She just could not erase it from her head: the humiliation, the look on Isla’s smug face as she stood beside Damien like some triumphant queen. The way she… Isabella of all people had been forced to shrink back, to leave in disgrace, like some desperate, broken piece of trash…it was unforgivable. She let out a rush of hot breath and then paused to whisper with her eyes narrowed. “That witch” That wretch… She had bitten off more than she could chew. But tonight… It was going to be a turning poi
It was early evening.Damien and Collins were seated at their usual spot at the rooftop bar with two lowball glasses set before them.However, today they had rare company in their midst. In the person of no one else but Isla’s younger sister…Sophia Carter.She had actually stopped by only moments ago, still dressed in the clothes she wore to work. She wasn’t here to join them for drinks. This was business… secret business.She had come as planned, just as she and her in-law had discussed earlier a few days ago.There was something she was here to collect from Damien, and that was a white, embossed envelope with a soft golden seal. Inside it was the official planning and early guest list for a major event Isla had no clue yet was coming…a surprise wedding. It was supposed to be the final stroke to crown all the struggles and tough victories the couples had experienced together in the past few weeks.So right now, Damien was handing the envelope to her with a calm smile as he murmur
"Can the dead live again?"That was the question hanging in the air as almost everyone in the room stood back with arms frozen to observe the unbelievable sight. Some were still staring, stiff with denial. Others blinked over and over again as if hoping that the image would flash and disappear. But Richard did not disappear. He remained in one place, solid and breathing.Then slowly and very steadily his gaze started to move towards the side of the room where the so-called family lawyer was sitting.Barrister Edward had not so much as blinked since Richard first appeared seconds ago. Now, with the full heat of those resurrected eyes on him, Edward could not help but tremble on his seat.His throat was openly bobbing with effort, but words failed him.Finally Richard opened his mouth to speak, and the first three words from his mouth sounded like gunshots.“How dare you?”Several people gasped. Someone at the back jerked involuntarily.And as for the lawyer himself, he nearly leap
The following morning after his father’s passing, Damien had woken quite early.He was before his reflection again this morning.The expression on his face was hard to read except to his wife… Isla.She was right beside him again, just like yesterday, gently adjusting the collar as it is with their little tradition.But unlike yesterday, she didn’t speak. Her silence was soft and quiet in understanding.It carried respect for his grief.Her eyes lingered on his face, thinking about everything again.It was true that Damien and his late dad had not been close for most of his life. Yes, the man had been absent, cold, and unreachable. But Richard Blackwood was still the only father Damien ever had.The one person who, even in his final days on earth, had tried imperfectly to mend what he had broken. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.And now even he too was gone forever?Isla let out an inaudible sigh, reaching out to fix a cufflink now.A few seconds after this, a sharp sound f
It was a Tuesday morning, just about four days after Isabella's weird departure. Damien was standing tall in his charcoal suit, gazing into his reflection with Isla in front of him.She was helping him adjust his tie with quiet concentration.“There,” she murmured, brushing an imaginary crease on his collar. “Perfect.”The silence between them was comfortable as usual.But just as Isla stepped aside to pick up his comb, the quietness was suddenly interrupted by the persistent sound of Damien’s ringing phone.The sound was coming from the side table by the window.Damien turned slightly with his brows pinched together.“Don’t worry, I’ll check it.” He murmured before Isla could try helping him get it.And in a few seconds he went over there to pick it up, eyes scanning the screen.The caller ID was showing Alexander.His brow immediately furrowed.“Alexander?”“That was rare,”He couldn't remember the last time his stepbrother had called him directly. Apart from Clarissa, the Black
It was 5:43p.m. when Isla’s car returned back to the big wide gates of the Backwood mansion. It was far earlier than her usual return time. Damien wouldn’t be home yet, not at this hour, and as for Isabella…. Isla could see that her car was already parked in a casual slant near the front porch. “The witch was back already.” Back from her little snake mission. Isla sat back in the car for a moment, the corners of her mouth tightening ever so slightly. She finally stepped out with purpose, walking as if she were giving a subtle warning to the house itself. Now, she was home, and the shadow of war was hanging over her. Moments after getting inside, just around the hallway junction, two of the domestic help spotted her and immediately dipped into respectful bows. “Welcome back, ma’am.” They greeted almost in unison. Isla gave a soft nod to answer before blurting with the wave of one hand, “Thank you both. You can let the others know you’re dismissed for the night. Tell them I