Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 82

Nicole's perfectly manicured nails dug into the slightly wrinkled fabric of her gown, her anger simmering.

"What else did you do to Gary?" Isabelle couldn't help but ask once they were away from the crowd.

Damian found a relatively quiet alcove and sat down.

They settled into two plush chairs separated by a small side table holding a coffee set and a plate of delicate pastries.

"You might not want to hear the details. It's a matter between men."

"Judging by his reaction, he clearly came out on the losing end."

"The night in Solvenia, when I kissed you, he called. I didn't hang up."

Isabelle caught the faintly smug, possessive look on his face, and a blush warmed her cheeks.

Gary must have heard enough to draw his own conclusions.

Flustered, she looked away.

"I thought you intended to..."

"I did intend to. Very much so..."

A weighted silence settled between them.

Damian leaned back in his chair, a trace of nostalgia in his expression. "Are you upset?"

"Damian, I'm not that petty."

He didn't press further, perhaps thinking that running into Gary here was already enough of a disturbance for her.

"What would you like to eat?"

"Anything is fine."

"Still in the mood for steak?" he asked.

Isabelle gave a small nod.

"Wait here for me." Damian stood and walked toward the open kitchen station where chefs were grilling steaks to order.

"I'm just going to the restroom. I'll be right back," Isabelle said.

"Alright."

She watched his retreating figure for a moment before turning toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.

Before she could reach it, a cold, familiar hand shot out from a doorway, grabbed her arm, and yanked her into a dim, empty sitting room.

In her heels, Isabelle stumbled, nearly losing her balance.

She looked up to see Gary.

He shut the door behind them.

Since it was a semi-public space, the door didn't lock, so he simply leaned his weight against it, blocking her exit.

Isabelle didn't panic. Instead, she sat down in a nearby armchair and rubbed her wrist. "Mr. Peterson, isn't it rather inappropriate to be manhandling someone like this?"

"Isabelle, do you hate me that much?"

"No. I don't hate you at all."

"You're angry because of Nicole. You're jealous—you still have feelings for me, don't you? That's why you found the first available man to make a point."

He grew more agitated as he spoke.

"Mr. Peterson, there's no point in revisiting expired matters. It's not productive," Isabelle replied calmly. The pain she felt wasn't for him, but for her own past naivety.

Mistress?

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