His Enemy, My Husband

Chapter 19: Disarmed

The next morning, in his secluded top-floor office, Damien was busily poring over columns of numbers, contracts, and affiliations all tied to Nate’s business partners.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

Damien lived by that mantra. If mind-reading were a skill, he would be first in line to master it, although he was already terrifyingly close to that.

Then, something made him stop halfway suddenly. An uninvited memory but not irrelevant.

The Carter family.

Their unexpected visit weeks ago, their air of confrontation, ready to even drag away their daughter.

But Damien had handled it. With care, precision, and his legendary charm, he had disarmed them all, especially Isla’s father, Robert Carter.

And it was now the old man's words that were the reason for his sudden thoughtfulness.

“Graham Wellington? That man’s a parasite. He doesn’t just destroy businesses, he infects them, like rot in fruit. He’s why I went bankrupt. I lost every single penny son… every cent.”

Damien remembered merely offering repetitive but polite nods as the man rambled, more concerned about how less difficult his plan would be with Isla's family now on his side,

But on thinking about it again and Graham's role in all of it… it was all slowly starting to make sense.

The puzzle was beginning to fit.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, shutting the file with a swift flip. He reached for his phone and immediately started dialing a number from memory.

The answer beep soon sounded, accompanied by a sharp and alert voice.

It was the voice of Gideon Kross, his private investigator.

“Dig into Wellington’s dealings,”

Damien went straight to the point without delay.

“Find me proof.”

He commanded.

There was a brief silence, then Gideon’s cool voice responded in the same manner.

“Understood.”

That was the end of the call, efficient, No further talk or unnecessary salutations.

Hours later, as the sun started to dip, Damien was still in his office assuming the same poised stance.

This time, however, there was a carefully laid poster before him. The seal of it is already broken.

Gideon was just as badass as his boss, Damien; his job had been clean, unbelievably fast, and on target, leaving no single trace.

As for the evidence in them, they were as damaging as hell.

“Corporate fraud. Rigged contracts. Hidden payoffs. Whispers of sabotage. And then, sectioned halfway through the folder, was a name Damien hadn’t expected to see.

The full names of Isla’s father, Robert Carter

The tips of his brows touched.

“So the old man really knew what he was talking about.”

Wellington had indeed built his entire empire on deceit and sabotage And now? Damien held the sword.

And almost as if the universe could sense this as well, his phone started to ring suddenly displaying a private number.

A few seconds passed before Damien answered with a sly look on his face and as soon as he heard the caller’s trembling voice, it graduated into a smirk.

Speaking of the devil, Wellington was on the phone.

“Mr. Blackwood… please. Don’t expose me. I’ll give you anything. Just don’t release that report.”

Damien remained seated, one leg crossed over the other; his voice was too calm as he shrugged.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

he asked simply, with his brow lifting.

On the other end, Graham's breathing sounded like he was drowning in his own panic.

“Look, I’ll give you anything: money, partnerships, I have connections with people you could use just, just don’t ruin me, please.”

Damien could not help but laugh at his proposal. Could this guy even hear himself? Help Damien Blackwood with connections?

“You really think I need your money?” he queried further in amusement,

Graham groaned helplessly, not bothering to attempt the question.

“Please, Mr. Blackwood… I… I made a mistake.”

Damien’s expression shifted now like a mask, his new tone now deadly as he whispered to correct him.

“No, Wellington. You made many.”

Wellington went silent, and Damien allowed it to stretch as he imagined that another man was sweating in some glass-walled office.

Then Damien sat straight in his chair, his voice smooth again.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen….You’re going to disappear from this business world. Quietly. Permanently.”

“Hunh?”

Wellington almost shouted.

“A-And if I don’t?”

Damien leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes bearing the fresh glow of violence.

“Then I’ll make sure your name is wiped off the financial world like you never existed.”

Wellington’s swallow was audible.

He knew he wasn’t talking to just anyone.

If Damien Blackwood said it he would most certainly do it. He had only two choices: bow or get burned.

And Damien had already held the noose for far too long.

When the line finally went silent,

Damien didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. All he did was extend a single finger to bring the call to an end. Wellington no longer had a say.

“Another ally is gone.

Another piece taken from Nate Hayes’ gameboard.

But then, no one should get it twisted. The war was far from over.”

Damien arrived home later than usual that night, having been held up in a last-minute board meeting,

He stepped in through the front door, expecting to be welcomed by total silence but halfway across the main corridor, he stopped to a sensation in the air.

His nose was twitching.

Something unfamiliar, He just couldn't place the scent. His brows touched.

It was warm and way too aromatic than what he was used to.

Food?

But not the kind the Blackwood kitchen usually produced.

What changed today?

He slowed his steps, silent but curious, until he reached the wide archway leading to the kitchen.

What he saw next brought him to a complete standstill.

Near the stove, with her sleeves rolled up and hair pinned messily away from her face, was his new wife Isla, stirring something in a deep pot.

Two maids were also standing off to her side, visibly unsure what to do with themselves.

At some point, one of them even wrung her hands nervously and leaned toward Isla.

“Mrs. Blackwood, we should be doing this…”

“I insist,” Isla politely interrupted, “I miss my own food.”

Damien watched and waited for a moment longer, before allowing his voice to break the moment.

“Didn’t know you could cook,”

The maids jolted slightly at the sound of his voice,

Isla turned halfway, her eyes landing on him, also with a flash of surprise, but she covered it quickly.

“I wasn’t always rich, Mr. Blackwood,”

she replied with a shrug that held a small hint of defiance.

Damien smirked and nodded once to approve her comeback.

“Touché.”

Later, after a long shower, Damien reentered the dining area. Isla had taken a spot adjacent to him not like a guest, but someone a little more comfortable in the home.

They ate together. For the first time since their contract.

“Not bad, Mrs. Blackwood.”

Damien had praised calmly in between spoonfuls. Isla glanced up, the complement had taken her aback.

“Glad you approve.” She said with a tone as normal as possible.

Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable until Isla gently placed her fork down and looked up again, bringing up Nate to change the topic.

“He won’t stop, you know, He doesn’t handle losing very well.”

Damien did not bother to look up from the plate before he quipped,

“Neither do I.”

But after a spoonful, he lifted his head expectedly and without meaning to their eyes had locked.

Isla looked away first, her lashes dipping as she uneasily reached for her glass

Damien, for reasons he couldn’t immediately understand, found himself still watching her.

Longer than necessary.

And longer than he ever would have allowed himself before tonight.