Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 312

Chapter 312 An Intimate and Painful Confrontation

He wanted her to come home

The villa felt hollow, and so did he. Without her there, his entire world had drained of color–everything seemed gray, dark, and stifling, like he couldn’t get enough air.

“Fine, if you won’t leave, then I will. Will that satisfy you?” sabelle didn’t want to waste another second here, arguing with someone so unreasonable.

She tossed the scissors onto a nearby armchair and turned to go, but Damian caught her arm, pulling her back. He leaned his weight against the door, blocking her only exit.

“If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave. But please… just go back home. Will you do that?” Damian’s voice was weary, but edged with unyielding resolve.

Isabelle could guess he was ill. He was running a fever, and a high one at that.

His mind was probably clouded from the heat radiating off him.

The warmth of his palm felt different from his usual temperature–it was the first time she’d felt his skin so unnaturally hot. Combined with his flushed face and overall lethargy, something was clearly very wrong.

“You’re sick. Go home and get proper rest. It’s better for both of us.” Isabelle’s tone gradually softened despite herself.

Damian seemed to ignore her words entirely and pressed on, “I’ll move out. You move back in.”

Isabelle didn’t reply..

He continued, his voice low, “If you don’t agree, I’m not leaving/

Not leaving?

Just standing there in front of her… exposed like that?

That part of him, which seemed to have a mind of its own, was seriously distracting.

“The fact that I haven’t filed for divorce yet is already my limit.” Isabelle’s emotions surged up all at once. I

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, but her temper had become volatile. She couldn’t control it at all. Even his simple, pleading tone could suddenly make her eyes sting with tears.

“Are you threatening me now?” Isabelle shook his hand off.

Damian was exactly the type of person who would do something like this.

It wasn’t just that he might refuse to leave–even if she managed to push him out, he’d probably just come back, showing up day after day to pester her until she was utterly worn down.

“Isabelle, I need you to trust me.” Damian’s eyes held a raw, unsettling sincerity.

Isabelle swallowed hard. The dried paths of her earlier tears tugged at the delicate skin of her cheeks, and her eyes felt terribly parched.

Her heart ached, too.

Should she trust him?

Isabelle hesitated.

Truthfully, back at Cross Manor, when she hadn’t immediately demanded a divorce, that had already been her giving him a chance.

A sliver of doubt about the whole situation still lingered within her.

But doubt was one thing–what she had seen with her own eyes was undeniably real.

On one side, trust. On the other, cold, visual evidence.

All she could do was run from the conflict.

She wished, desperately, that someone would step forward and tell her none of it was his doing.

But for now, every clue pointed directly at him.

She was completely torn.

“Fine, I’ll go back. But you have to stay out of my sight.” She couldn’t bear to look at him right now.

She was beginning to think part of the reason she’d married Damian in the first place was that she’d been utterly captivated by his… physical appeal.

When Damian finally left, he took the offensive sign from the studio door with him.

“That bastard!” Diana cursed under her breath from her desk.

Just then, Isabelle stepped out of the elevator.

Her expression was composed. Any trace of tears had been washed away, and she had applied some moisturizer and a hint of tinted lip balm. She looked more alive now.

“What did he want?” Diana asked, pursing her lips.

“He asked me to move back,” Isabelle replied casually, already looking for a task to occupy her hands.

Diana followed her, her eyes landing on the shears Isabelle was still holding. “And? Are you going back?”

“Yes.”

“What were the shears for?”

To neuter him.

“Do you believe him?”

Isabelle’s expression froze for a brief moment.

She wanted to.

But she couldn’t shake the visceral impact of what she had seen.

That evening, Isabelle returned to the villa. Susie was already in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

The living room was filled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting herbs and garlic, mingled with the fresh, light scent of tulips from a vase on the console.