Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 158

Ashley knew Finley had it coming.

She also understood now why her own mother had sunk into depression and taken her life—none of it was Isabelle's fault.

But that didn't mean she could just accept it.

When Ashley discovered the anonymous whistleblower's surname was Foster, she completely broke down.

She couldn't understand it. Even if Isabelle and Finley had no affection between them, this was going too far.

Having his legs broken and then reporting him? That was practically wiping him off the map.

Who else but Damian would be capable of such methods? It must have been Isabelle pulling the strings behind the scenes, urging Damian to act.

Isabelle was dazed. She had no idea what Ashley was talking about.

After Finley had one leg broken, he'd been served a court summons. Christian had anonymously tipped off the authorities, landing him behind bars.

Isabelle knew nothing about this. "When did he go in? Why is he in a wheelchair? He..."

Before she could finish, Ashley cut her off with a scornful laugh from the other end of the line.

She said, "Save the noble act. I don't blame you, though. If breaking his leg made you and your mother happy, then mission accomplished. Are you satisfied?"

Isabelle was silent.

"Love Damian well," Ashley said, then hung up.

Isabelle stood frozen in place.

She was under the pavilion in the backyard, her thoughts as still and frightening as the frozen surface of the lake.

Isabelle didn't like Finley, and she'd been shocked when she uncovered his dirty secrets, but she'd never wanted to destroy him.

So who exposed him?

And who broke his leg?

Was it Damian?

Or that elderly man from that day?

Both seemed possible.

While her mind raced, Damian appeared beside her.

He stood with arms crossed, his tall frame straight and broad beneath a long black wool coat that hung perfectly on his shoulders.

She looked up at his sharply defined features, refined and cool behind his glasses, an air of restrained elegance about him.

That reserved demeanor completely masked the wildness underneath.

Isabelle looked petite standing next to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

The doubt hadn't left Isabelle's eyes, her expression still uneasy.

"Nothing," she finally said, choosing not to ask.

Even if it was him, so what?

He was her man. Finley's fate was inevitable—sooner or later, the authorities would have caught up with him, with or without a tip.

But his leg...

Is that all he ever thinks about?

Doesn't he have anything serious to talk about?

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