Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 70

His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing prominent, well-defined veins along his strong wrists.

The contrast of his tailored suit paired with a simple black apron should have looked incongruous, yet on him, it somehow still worked—effortlessly commanding.

Isabelle averted her gaze, gently patting her cheeks which had grown warm without her realizing.

That reckless night with him, she hadn't gotten a proper look at what he actually looked like.

Or maybe, somewhere in her memory, she'd just never connected the dots that she'd been with her boss.

Now it seemed she'd landed a man who was, by all appearances, quite the catch.

The only catch was, this particular catch was married to his work and was hardly ever home.

Well, that was fine—it meant they wouldn't get in each other's way.

Still, if it hadn't been for that creep Oliver last night, she might not have felt quite so... neglected.

"Come here," Damian called from the kitchen.

"Okay."

She slipped off her jacket, picked up a simple hair clip from the console table, and held it gently between her teeth as she walked toward him.

The clip rested at the corner of her lips, just revealing a glimpse of her white teeth, while the soft curve of her mouth hinted at a smile.

With slender fingers, she gathered her hair up, though a few stubborn strands near her temples refused to be tamed.

Damian watched her.

She looked like she'd stepped out of an elegant portrait.

So effortlessly beautiful.

Her ivory blouse, made of a subtle iridescent silk, shimmered faintly in the afternoon light filtering through the windows.

Only then did he notice the fabric—a delicate, luminous material that changed hue with her movement.

The classic collar and tailored sleeves, the graceful drape at her waist...

Paired with that high-waisted leather skirt, her silhouette was simply striking.

That much, at least, was beyond doubt.

He'd known it well enough that night.

Noticing his lingering gaze, Isabelle quickly spoke up. "Something smells amazing."

"Have a seat."

Damian pulled out a chair for her at the dining table, then returned to bring over the steak he had already plated and sliced in the kitchen.

Set before her were two small dishes of sauce—one a creamy black pepper, the other a rich tomato.

Isabelle picked up her fork, speared a piece of steak, dipped it into the tomato sauce, and took a bite without ceremony.

Her eyes lit up—it felt like ages since she'd had steak this tender and perfectly cooked. "You've got skills."

"Which ones?" Damian took a slow bite of his own, watching her intently.

Which ones?

What did he mean by "which ones"?

What was this man implying?

He was actually steering them toward a risqué joke.

She paused, then clarified, "Your steak-cooking skills are impressive."

"If you're open to learning, I'm fairly capable in other areas as well." He said it as casually as commenting on the weather.

Isabelle could now be sure—he wasn't bluffing. That night, he must have been the one who took the lead.

"What would you like for dinner tonight?"

"If I name it, can you actually make it?"

"Try me."

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