All Chapters of His Enemy, My Husband : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

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

"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

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

At Dawson McMahon’s hospital bed, Isla’s weak frame was lying on one of the blue-sheeted beds at ward 19. Her face was looking pale against the pillow.Surrounding her were those who mattered most to her in life: her parents alongside her sister Sophia, standing and watching with faces heavy with concern mixed with gloom.Then Caden, who had both of his hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on her.Finally, there was Tiara, who kept strolling back and forth from the wall to check on her after every 10 seconds.Things remained like this for a few minutes until the moment Isla stirred on her bed.Her hand twitched under the sheets, followed by a soft, sleepy groan.Then, very gradually, she started to open her eyes.It was the ceiling that came into view first.Then she started to turn slowly only to be greeted by the familiar faces hovering over her.At first, they were a blur, like figments of imagination.But when she blinked again, making it really slow and careful, her mother’s face,

Isla was sitting comfortably at the far end of her office, wearing an ash-toned jumpsuit that complimented her tall, willowy figure.An embossed card was lying on her table; it contained an invitation from New York Fashion Week. Isla allowed her eyes to stay on it for a moment, the corner of her lips twitching, as she reached for her pen to carefully mark it.Just as she was about to make a note, the sudden buzz of her phone made her stop halfway.Her gaze shifted to the desk at once. The name flashing on the screen made her pause. It was a call from her blood sister… Sophia Isla could not help but let out a soft sigh as she leaned back to pick up the phone, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she brought it to her ear. She was actually expecting to hear something trivial; maybe Sophia was calling again to disturb as usual or, worse still, to gossip about someone’s outrageous outfit on Instagram.But no, what Isla heard next after picking up was a rather tense, unfamiliar to