Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 45

"Work pass?" Damian asked in the fluent, local language, his deep-set eyes following Isabelle until she disappeared around the corner before turning back.

"No entry without a work pass, sir. Guests are only permitted in the main hall and the auditorium." The security guards were polite but firm, offering no exception.

Damian paused. "And this area is for..."

"Designers and models only. Backstage."

Damian asked, "A friend of mine is inside. Could he come out to escort me?"

"I'm sorry, sir. No one enters without a pass."

He nodded, thanked them, and walked away.

Access to the designer and model areas was strictly controlled; each pass was numbered with a photo ID. An ordinary person wouldn't get in.

He took out his phone.

Damian asked, "Where are you?"

Isabelle replied, "I'm in the restroom. Don't wait for me."

Damian lifted his gaze, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He hummed in acknowledgment before ending the call. She is something else.

Isabelle rushed to her seat just five minutes before the show started. The auditorium was nearly full by then. She sat down, slightly breathless, and gave Damian a nod.

Noticing the faint sheen on her forehead, Damian pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket, tore one out, and handed it to her.

"Thanks," Isabelle said.

He didn't respond. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his large arm draping over the back of her seat, his hand coming to rest possessively on her waist.

Isabelle turned her head to look at him. He's being so bold.

No wonder their seats were the most secluded among their group. This had been his plan all along.

His broad frame blocked the view from the others, effectively shielding her within the circle of his arm.

She leaned back, pressing his hand firmly against the chair.

Damian's lips quirked into a smile, and his hand gave her waist a firm, deliberate squeeze.

"Mmph!" A soft sound escaped Isabelle before she could stop it. She immediately covered it with a cough, afraid others might notice. A blush crept up her cheeks, and the sweat she'd just wiped away began to bead again.

"Mr. Cross, mind your manners," she whispered, tilting her head toward him in warning.

He just smiled faintly, said nothing, and kept his arm where it was.

And the "Diana" she mentioned was likely the famous designer of the same name. Damian chuckled inwardly. So I was the one who was slow on the uptake.

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