His Enemy, My Husband

Chapter 11: The Knife In the Smile

“Ugh God!” half-sleepy, with a half-repetitive beeping from her phone stirring her awake the next morning.

With a sluggish roll of her hands, she picked up the phone and sat up slowly before finally lifting it to see a train of new notifications waiting on her screen.

She blinked, letting her vision adjust to the light before swiping further.

"Isla Carter’s Success: Talent or Just Another Rich Man’s Wife?"

That was the title of the main headline people were tagging her to. Her pictures with both Nate and Damien were placed side by side,, and under the main post, over a hundred thousand people had commented in less than three hours.

A cold feeling ran down her spine, as her face started to get dark with foreboding. She swallowed, forcing herself to scroll further down.

The main post she found beneath the pictures was worse;

It painted her as nothing more than a former secretary who had merely married her way into success, someone whose achievements were not the result of talent but of convenience.

It labeled her a gloried gold digger, drawing pointed comparisons between Nate and Damien, suggesting she had a pattern of latching onto powerful men to climb the ladder.

And as for the comments they were all buying into the post hook line and sinker.

"Her entire brand is just her last name."

"Poor girl, must be exhausting keeping up this little act."

“By the time this girl is done with us even the president of our country will be calling her his ex.”

Isla felt heat rising to her face, an aggressive ache was attacking her temples while her fingers trembled as she processed all the cruel remarks.

"Can you f*****g hear this people?"

she muttered under her breath, throwing one tired palm to her forehead.

~~~

Meanwhile, back at Nate's mansion, Vanessa was taking a rest in the lounge, her legs crossed as she scrolled through her own phone.

The focus of her attention was the recent scandal on the net buzzing about her former friend.

Funny enough, she wasn't the one behind it.

But as for the writer who did this? She felt like finding him and paying him an allowance or something.

“A masterpiece….Looks like someone finally said it out loud,” she murmured with a satisfied smirk.

Then she tilted her head slightly, eyeballs dancing with mischief as she took in the sheer number of people dragging Isla through the mud.

The pleasure she was getting from this was heavenly.

As this was going on, Nate was on a separate couch, sitting not too far from her. He was watching, but unlike Vanessa, he wasn’t smiling. Not looking even mildly entertained.

Instead, his grip on his phone became firmer, he ground his teeth as he scrolled through Isla’s page, quietly waiting for her reaction, hoping that she wouldn't be silent for too long.

~~~

Tired of all the s**t she has been reading, Isla slammed her phone down on the bed, pushing the covers off as she rose abruptly.

Then she snatched the phone back up and started to dial Nate’s number. The call barely rang twice before she heard the answer beep.

"Did you tell the press anything?" she demanded at once.

There was a brief pause. Nate, who seemed a little bit caught off guard to hear her voice, finally answered.

"No..uhm…No, But… Why are you calling me, Isla?"

Isla swallowed, her jaw tightening but she didn't reply. As if unable to resist, Nate followed up with yet another question, "Did you marry Damien to get back at me?"

At that point, Isla snapped impatiently, "You don’t get to ask me that."

On the other end, she heard the way Nate broke an exhale as if restraining more questions.

When he spoke again, his whisper carried the fresh tone of warning.

"Isla, you have no idea who you’re playing games with. Damien is….is–"

She didn’t let him finish. With a fierce tap, she hung up on him.

~~~

Damien returned home by the end of midday and found Isla curled on the couch in the sitting room.

He knew why she was like that, yet he looked as unbothered as could be.

As for Isla, It was only when she heard his soothing baritone that she blinked out of her trance.

"Breathe."

He whispered as he strolled into the room, heading straight to the bar area to pick a glass and pour himself a drink while Isla watched with something close to amazement.

Hadn't he never heard of a f*****g news alert?

Without looking at her, Damien added casually, "You, of all people, should be used to this by now."

The words made Isla's head snap up, her glare immediate and her tone almost tearful.

"Get used to what, Damien? How do you get used to people dragging your name through the dirt every single day of the week? How?"

Silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of her breathing.

Damien turned back slowly, his lazy smirk still there. He walked back toward her with a glass now in his hand, before lowering himself onto the couch adjacent to her.

"Because I never lose," he said simply, swirling the liquid in his glass. "And neither do you."

The unapologetic confidence in his voice made Isla pause.

She found herself staring at him like he was an alien. Was there ever a human being who never got rattled? What was the source of this man's unwavering strength?

She let out a hum and looked away slowly. Well, maybe, just maybe, she needed to start thinking like him.

Moments later, after Damien had excused himself, heading upstairs to retrieve something.

Isla brought out her phone to review the comments for the umpteenth time. She could not help but snarl at their malicious assumptions.

These people thought she was good for nothing. They think her success was nothing but a stroke of luck, not talent.

Then, slowly, her eyes started to narrow.

“Vanessa!”

Of course, it had to be her.

Who else would want to make her feel so small? To punish her for daring to survive, for refusing to back down and let her take everything, her husband, her life, the status she had once boasted of?

Who else would still be so angry that Isla, of all people, came back stronger than before?

A quietness started to settle over her. It was Vanessa. Then her lips began to curl as she slowly reached a decision.

She would not react just yet. But something was surely coming.

She pushed herself up and smoothed the fabric of her dress then proceeded to the bar area, reaching for a bottle, from which she poured herself a glass of wine.

As she swirled the drink, her reflection stared back at her in the dark red liquid.

She had let them ruin her once.

“Never again.”

And then she mimicked Damien’s ghosted smirk as she murmured under her breath.

"Game on, bitch."