All Chapters of His Enemy, My Husband : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

“Something in the air was wrong.”Since the beginning of today, and maybe even a bit of yesterday, Isla had started to notice some weird developments in the mansion.It had nothing to do with the curtains, lighting, or even the decor as a whole.It was about her husband…Damien.The usual routine of his existence, his ever-enduring discipline, had taken a surprising pause.For the first time since they signed the contract, Damien, of all people, did not go to work. And guess what? Today was a Monday.“A proper work day!”Isla was already dressed up for her boutique shift, expecting to find the mansion empty by that hour.But instead, she stepped out of her room to see the young man in the sitting room.“Still in his house clothes.”A sight that until now, she would have classified as close to impossible.Isla remained still for a second, her eyes narrowing in quiet curiosity.Damien was slanted on the couch and by his side was his smartphone buzzing over and again to a call, yet ignor

The next morning Isla discovered Damien had disappeared from the mansion.After her return from work yesterday, she had carried herself through her routine blindly, dodging the memory of everything that had taken place before she closed from work, and barely seen Damien since then. All that she had heard yesterday from her room notifying her that he was back was the echo of his footsteps on the stairs and of the maids greeting him.He also had not bothered to check up on her. And strangely, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved by that or disappointed.This morning, he just left without even leaving as little as a text or a voicemail behind.Although she tried searching a few extra places to be double sure of the observation, particularly his study. Yet she had found nothing, he was really gone.“Just like that? Was that how it is now?”After letting out a gasp she blinked rapidly as she tried to make sense of the sinking feeling.Soon after that, she stepped back, walked to the nearest

Isla stared back at Isabella. Her posture did not change, but the meaning behind her unsolicited history lesson did not go unnoticed. It hung in the air like poison. Isla controlled her expression and tried not to let it show on her face. She folded her arms slightly, offering a cool smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and in an equally dry tone she responded, “Well, lucky you still remember.” There was a pause; Isabella lifted one of her brows as if she were amused or unimpressed. But in the end, she said nothing else. The quiet animosity between the ladies stretched taut, heavy like a cloud of rain that refused to burst. Getting to her boutique later that morning, Isla entered her office, shut the door, and lowered herself into her chair with an attitude to speak of restraint. She was in a fight with herself, her head, and her mind, trying not to think of the last few minutes back home and, as a matter of fact, the last 24 hours. Trying not to think of Damien and his

Later that afternoon, Damien was back in the office. His posture was relaxed but not completely. His eyes, though focused on the document before him, hadn’t truly read a single word in the last half hour. They were as distant as that of a man present in a room but miles away in thought.He ground his teeth.For the last few minutes since his return, he had been thinking about his last parting words to Isla at her boutique after the slightly heated exchange between them.“Don’t forget this is just a contract. No personal feelings.”The words echoed in his head again, like something someone else had said. He dragged a hand across his face. What was he even thinking when he said that? Isla’s face when he uttered those words was still very much clear in his head, her silence, her distant eyes. He remembered it all too well now. And it stung more than he expected. He hummed and said nothing else.His thoughts now went farther back to earlier that same morning, back at the mansion. Damie

Isabella was literally glued to Damien's side as they arrived at the venue of the Blake Group’s much-anticipated gala later that night.Damien's attention seemed to be elsewhere, despite being right beside her. His eyes were vague and distant.And when they finally got into the main hall, his eyes swept the entirety of the large room the moment they were past the door.He looked searching, he looked calculating.It was obvious he wasn’t here just to sip wine or listen to some bland, repetitive music. Neither was he here to schmooze or pose for staged photos. Not really.As far as Damien was concerned, this was his definition of strategy.The organizers of this event, ”The Blake Group,” were no ordinary conglomerate. It was a machine of influence. Philanthropy was only a scratch on the surface of what they were actually about. Beneath it ran an even deeper stream of power: talking about quiet funding for political campaigns, backdoor partnerships with foreign stakeholders, and now,