His Enemy, My Husband

Chapter 25: A Guest with a Key

Isla stared at Damien for a little too long.

She allowed his question to hang in the air at first because of the speed with which he had caught her off guard and secondly, because she could not seriously believe he was asking her that.

So he really wanted to know if she would be okay with him bringing in his mistress…or old friend rather than living in a space that was supposed to be theirs. In the end, she gave a small shrug.

“Why are you asking if it would bother me?”

Her tone managed to remain smooth, but there was a glint in her eye.

“I thought personal feelings weren’t allowed.”

Damien didn’t blink. His eyes, however, stayed fixed on her like he was trying to read her mind as usual.

“I’m simply being polite,” he finally replied coolly.

Isla’s face twisted, her nose wrinkled, then she shook her head at once.

“No,” She blurted. “No, you’re just being cruel.”

Then without waiting for what he would say next, she turned around sharply to resume her procession to her room, disappearing from his sight in seconds.

Later that evening, a black wagon made its way through the driveway of Damien’s mansion; the vehicle came to a smooth halt before the wide stone steps.

Isabella stepped out as the driver, Matteo Bennett, a tall man in a faded T-shirt, rounded the car hurriedly to open the door.

Isabella climbed down and took off her glasses slowly as she glanced around the extra-large front yard, the corners of her lips faintly lifted.

She moved and acted with the awareness of someone who knew every room she walked into already belonged to her.

Matteo started unloading her designer suitcases from the trunk, and at a corner of the herd, a few of Damien's domestic workers hung around curiously, some of them in mid-conversation while others folded laundry into nearby baskets.

Isabella didn’t spare them a glance, didn’t even pause.

She just proceeded to ascend the stairs with the slow grace of a queen rightfully possessing her castle.

She reached the door, placed her hand on the handle, and let herself in; Matteo followed dutifully, dragging in the suitcases without a word.

Inside the sitting room, Isabella found Isla standing in a quiet corner by the bookshelf, her arms crossed loosely, her attitude showing she had been informed of the arrival but hadn't expected it this soon.

Isabella turned her head, her expression flat just like the first time they met.

No smile, no frown.

“Isla,” she called with a single nod, her tone neutral.

“Isabella,” Isla returned greeting in the same empty tone.

Meanwhile, a few spaces away in the same sitting room was Damien.

He was leaning against the bar, one hand on a glass as he watched the exchange between the two ladies with an unreadable gaze.

Without another word, Isla turned away, her footsteps swift and light as she made for the stairs, the sound echoing in the big house until it faded out completely.

When it was time for dinner, much later in the night, Isla came out of her room and started to descend the staircase again.

There was a quiet strength now in her movement, a guarded grace.

Then, as she started to near the dining room, her gaze fell on the welcoming sight.

Isabella, now seated wearing a more casual dress, was sitting beside Damien like some sort of new wife.

Her laughter rang out gently, a small reaction to something Damien had said, or maybe she had even said it herself, but Isla didn’t care enough to know more.

Though there was this slight tightness in her chest, she hid it like a pro and kept her face neutral, looking as relaxed as could be.

Then, without a word, she took the seat directly across from them.

She met both their gazes briefly hers was the last to break away.

She focused instead on her fork and knife, picking them up with care. After that, she began to eat.

What she heard next after this was the clearing of a throat.

Isla looked up slowly, her head movements deliberate.

“I hope you don’t mind red wine with steak,”

Isabella murmured slyly. “You know Damien and I have always preferred that pairing.”

The eyes of the two ladies met, one was steady. The other is smug.

Isla didn’t respond. She simply turned her attention to her steak and started to eat with a little more pressure than before.

Damien said nothing. His expression stayed passive, almost blank.

But for Isla, his silence said much more than words could ever.

After the meal, Isla returned to her room to find that she had received a message from Clarissa.

She sat on the edge of her bed with one leg tucked under the other then she tapped and pressed the phone pressed to her ear.

It was actually two voice notes sent in succession,

Her sister-in-law’s cool voice was heavy with warning as she listened,

“So… I heard Isabella is crashing at your place. She always finds a way to slither back, doesn’t she?”

“Watch her. She doesn’t always take ‘no’ as a final answer.”

Isla listened to both messages again, twice.

Her face shifted slightly not with shock, but with a sense of thoughtfulness. Her teeth clenched as though she were holding back a surge of something.

Then, with a quick motion, she dropped the phone onto the bed, pushing it aside like a curse.

The next morning, Isla rose early and slipped into her casual leggings, and shirt as she padded through the hallway, heading to the kitchen to prepare her coffee as usual.

Her mind was already racing with the day’s schedules.

She reached for the kitchen door and pushed it open with one swift tug only to stiffen immediately on the line that formed the threshold.

She almost gasped as she saw who was already there before her, standing with her bare feet near the window and wearing Damien’s polo.

It was Isabella…again

She looked completely at home.

Isla remained frozen, lips slightly parted. Something hot and immediately rushed to her face and a bitter taste filled her tongue.

Isabella started to turn slowly like she even knew the exact time Isla got out of bed.

“Morning,” she said smoothly, lifting the mug in her hand to her lips and taking a sip like it was an act of theatre.

She exhaled softly in mocking relish.

“Hope you don’t mind, “I always make Damien’s coffee. I mean, way before most people even knew his first name…uhm, including you.”