Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 207

Chapter 207 Awkward Encounters

“Please don’t say that, Mr. Cross. I was only doing my job.” Celeste replied, feigning innocence as if she’d missed his implication entirely.

“Mm.” he acknowledged tonelessly.

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“May I join you the day after tomorrow?” Celeste pressed, eager to seize the opening. Damian glanced at her sideways, his eyes sweeping over her before pausing briefly. “Fine.

Celeste exhaled a silent sigh of relief, a tentative smile touching her lips as some of the tension eased.

With that, he turned and made his way toward the restrooms.

Celeste watched his retreating figure, her gaze lingering.

Broad–shouldered, with a trim waist and a tall, athletic build–the man was compelling from every angle.

After parting ways with them, Frank ambled over to where Isabelle and Brian were sitting.

“Come by the ranch for a barbecue the day after tomorrow. I’ll slow–smoke a whole brisket!” Frank announced, giving Isabelle’s shoulder a hearty pat.

“Absolutely, Frank!” Isabelle agreed cheerfully.

Brian, however, remained conspicuously silent beside her.

Frank’s expression soured, and he pointed a finger at his son. “And don’t you forget what you promised me!”

“I know…” Brian muttered, his tone resigned.

To secure Frank’s crucial investment commitment, Brian had reluctantly resorted to pleading with his father.

Frank’s terms were straightforward—either return home alone to take over the family business, or return home with a girlfriend if he refused the succession.

In other words, bring a partner to meet the family—or the investment was off the table.

Frank gave a final, dissatisfied huff and strode away from the gathering, while Isabelle bit her

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lip to suppress a laugh beside him.

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From a distance, Celeste observed the scene, her irritation mounting. Why did Isabelle seem to be connected to everyone?

They actually knew each other, too!

Had Isabelle somehow sabotaged a perfectly viable investment opportunity?

She refused to believe it!

By the time Damian returned, the terrace had filled with a small, familiar group.

Aside from Isabelle and Brian, Collin, Griffin, and Celeste had also joined.

Isabelle was seated between Griffin on her left and Brian on her right, while Celeste had taken the chair next to Griffin.

As Damian approached, Celeste’s eyes tracked him hopefully.

There was an empty seat beside her, and just as she anticipated he would take it, Brian stood up. He moved his own chair aside, fetched a fresh folding chair for Damian, and then took a seat next to Collin instead.

Damian settled in naturally beside Isabelle.

He stretched his legs out comfortably, his knee coming to rest against hers, placed one hand casually on her thigh, and picked up his wineglass with the other, taking a slow sip.

The subtle, possessive gesture did not go unnoticed by those present.

Isabelle glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

Even through the layers of their clothing, she could feel the warmth of his leg against hers.

She tried to shift slightly away, but his hand gave her thigh a gentle, warning squeeze. He then leaned past her smoothly to address Griffin, his movement so fluid it seemed entirely incidental.

Isabelle felt a faint warmth rise to her cheeks at his audacity.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Mr. Whitaker. It’s a genuine pleasure,” Damian said with a cordial smile.

Griffin replied with his characteristic calm, “I simply drop in on occasion to observe and

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learn from the dynamism of your generation.”

“You’re too modest, Mr. Whitaker,” Damian responded.

A brief, comfortable silence followed.

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“Your studio opens tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken?” Griffin asked, turning his attention to Isabelle.

Isabelle nodded. “I’ll be expecting you.”

“Of course. Seeing you and Collin establishing yourselves independently fills me with pride.” Griffin said, nodding approvingly at both of his former students.

Celeste stiffened, catching the specific wording.

Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, but she tried to dismiss the thought.

It couldn’t be. There is no way Isabelle is Griffin’s student.

Damian’s gaze also shifted thoughtfully to Collin, as if reassessing a puzzle.

“We owe any success to your guidance, Mr. Whitaker,” Isabelle said respectfully.

Griffin leaned slightly closer and asked, in a voice meant only for her, if she was indeed Muddlehead. Isabelle gave a small, confirming nod.

Across from them, Collin’s lips curved into a knowing smile,

They had both pieced it together some time ago.

“Well done.” Griffin said, his expression one of deep satisfaction.

“Not many receive such praise from Mr. Whitaker. Mrs. Cross is quite fortunate,” Celeste interjected, unable to resist probing further. “Mrs. Cross, you wouldn’t happen to be another one of Mr. Whitaker’s students, would you?”

Isabelle met her gaze with a calm smile. “I am.”

Griffin looked at Isabelle with unmistakable pride. “And my final, and perhaps most accomplished, protégé.”

Celeste froze. Her worst suspicion was confirmed.

His final protégé?

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So that meant… her own standing was inconsequential in comparison?

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How laughable. She had always dismissed Isabelle as a minor, untalented designer–hardly worth a second glance. It never occurred to her that Isabelle could be a legitimate threat in terms of skill and pedigree.

But now, it seemed her judgment had been profoundly flawed.

Isabelle was Griffin’s student, his final protégé. The implication was clear–perhaps she herself was not, and never had been, in Isabelle’s league.

Beside them, Damian didn’t look particularly surprised–he had just had a long–held suspicion confirmed.

Back when Brian had made that comment about “fine wine being worth the wait“, Damian had begun to wonder. Combined with the familiar, respectful tone he’d overheard between Isabelle and Griffin at Mr. Savage’s birthday gala, he had already formed a strong hypothesis about her alternate identity.

She was endlessly full of surprises.

“What other secrets are you keeping from me?” Damian murmured, his voice a low whisper meant only for her.

His hand gave her thigh another slight squeeze, and Isabelle quickly caught his wrist. Now was decidedly not the time for his games–her legs were a sensitive area, and the slightest touch threatened to unravel her composure.

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