Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 311

Chapter 311 A Drastic Gesture

Bruce stood frozen for a moment, unsure if he should follow Damian inside. Then it hit him–he wasn’t the one banned, so why couldn’t he go in?

He pressed his lips together, briefly considered the situation, and walked in right after.

“Mr. Cross.” Bonita spotted Damian immediately.

How could she not recognize him!

She hurried over, positioning herself in his path.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cross, but you really can’t come in-”

Damian shot her a sideways glance and brushed straight past. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not ‘Mr. Cross!”

Behind him, Bruce clicked his tongue softly but stayed quiet.

When you’re determined, you make your own rules.

Bonita pressed her lips together, stepped aside, and let him “charge” on through.

She knew better than to physically stop him.

Feigning annoyance, she called after his retreating back, “Isabelle’s resting upstairs on the third floor! She only just woke up–don’t you go disturbing her!”

Damian strode quickly across the studio’s main room into the back work area, snatched a pair of fabric shears from a drafting table on his way, and made a beeline for the private elevator.

Diana, who was reviewing a client file nearby, watched the whole scene but didn’t intervene, simply returning to her work.

Bruce swallowed hard. What was he planning to do with those shears?

He moved to follow, but Damian threw a look over his shoulder–a look that clearly said, I’ll handle this alone.

Bruce stopped in his tracks.

When the elevator doors opened on the third floor, they revealed a spacious, loft–style living area.

Isabelle stood there in soft loungewear, holding a mug of tea, about to return to her bedroom for more rest.

She had just set the mug down on the kitchen island when the sound of the elevator arriving made her turn.

A tall, achingly familiar figure stepped into view.

She froze, her eyes sweeping over him.

Usually so impeccably put together, today his shirt was wrinkled, haphazardly tucked into his trousers, and he was holding a pair of shears.

Wait–shears?

What was he doing with those up here?

“How did you get in here?” Isabelle took a couple of steps back.

“I walked in.”

Obviously. She had gathered that much.

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Damian’s gaze fixed on the woman before him. Even though less than a day had passed, seeing her now flooded him with a desperate, overwhelming longing.

She looked paler, weary–no makeup, lacking her usual vibrant energy, as if she hadn’t slept properly in days.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms like he used to, to feel her warmth against him again. He missed, painfully, the way she would blush and settle into his embrace.

She blushed so easily, that shy, flustered look of hers always feeding directly into his deepest possessiveness.

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