Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 11

The next day was her day off. Isabelle slept straight through until noon.

She didn't get up to freshen up right away. Instead, she checked her car's location on her phone. Sure enough, it had been taken in for maintenance.

Her plan for the day was simple—spoil herself.

She slipped on the high heels she rarely wore and a sexy, tight dress that hugged every curve of her body perfectly.

She was naturally beautiful—delicate features, flawless skin, and blonde hair that gave her an effortlessly polished, expensive look.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror and studied her reflection. She was five foot six, but Gary wasn't that tall either, so with heels on, she'd be right at his level.

She'd naturally stopped wearing heels entirely for his sake, afraid that standing next to each other would make him feel insecure about the height difference. Well, now she could wear whatever the hell she wanted.

She couldn't help laughing at herself for being so slow to figure it out, for not ditching the act sooner and just being unapologetically herself.

Once she was ready, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, but then she spotted Damian's jacket on the couch.

Damn it. Forgot to give it back again.

After a brief hesitation, she looped it over her arm and walked out.

First stop would be the nail salon for a flawless manicure. Then she had her straight blonde hair styled into soft, loose waves, got her makeup done professionally, and went all out on a shopping spree.

The last stop was a high-end custom boutique—one of those established brands that did private tailoring. Normally, you had to book months in advance, sometimes even half a year ahead.

"Hi, I'd like to order a custom shirt," Isabelle said, handing the suit jacket to the sales associate.

"Of course! What kind of style are you after?" The woman's smile was warm and welcoming.

"This is my boyfriend's jacket, but I don't know his shirt size. Can you use this to make a custom shirt for him?" Isabelle said.

Two of his shirts were ruined, so replacing one seemed like the least she could do.

But since he loved wearing black so much, maybe a white one instead.

No way was she going to owe him any favors.

The sales associate took the jacket and examined it carefully, her eyes falling on the label hidden behind the size tag—"DC".

Not wanting to jump to conclusions, she said gently, "I'll need to check this with our tailor first. Would you mind taking a seat for a moment? I'll be right back with you."

"Sure, thank you." Isabelle sat down on the nearby sofa to wait.

The associate carried the jacket to the back of the shop and handed it to an elderly man with a white beard. After explaining the situation, she flipped the jacket to show him the label.

The old man glanced out at Isabelle and adjusted his glasses.

"You're certain she said this was for her boyfriend?" There was clear surprise in his voice.

"That's what she said, Sir Cross." The associate couldn't help a small smirk.

"Bring her back here." Theodore Cross's gaze never left Isabelle as she looked around the shop curiously.

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