Chapter 88 Is Damian Losing His Mind?
<Chapter>Chapter 88 Is Damian Losing His Mind? </Chapter>
Once again, they were at odds. Ashley, exasperated, hurled her phone towards the couch, aiming it just so it would land with a resonating thud in a crevice, as if the device was Damian himself. With a determined knee bump, she swung open the door. She had made her decision: either he would leave, or she would. There was no room for a repeat of their tumultuous past. "What do you want, Damian?" she demanded, her tone polite but devoid of any warmth. Her words, if they could be given physical form, would have been as sharp as knives. Damian, car keys in one hand and loosening his tie with the other, exuded a rugged charm that was difficult to overlook. His desire for control was always evident. "You think you can stop me like that?" he challenged. Ashley despised his arrogance and sense of entitlement. "Yes, I physically can't stop you, but Damian, you at least should be reasonable. Dropping in uninvited isn't proper.""Why didn't you tell me about today's court ruling? As KM Road's representative, is this how you handle things?" Damian queried.She scoffed in response, "Your representative has all the details. You should ask him."He always set the rules, expecting everyone else to revolve around him. "My manager, Mr. Zhong, is a highly paid marketing specialist, not a gofer. It's unreasonable for him to do double the work for a single salary," he retorted.Frustrated to the point of laughter, Ashley shot back, "What else does Mister Hearst want to know? I'll draft a detailed report and email it to you.""I don't have time to read your report. Clarify it verbally, and remember, today's work gets done today. Get your words together, Ashley. You can start whenever you're ready."Ashley silently counted to three, restraining her urge to curse. "Lee lost the case. The court sentenced him to prison..."Damian gently brushed her arm aside and stepped past her into the house. He slipped on the men's slippers kept beneath the shoe rack and sauntered into the living room. "Where's the stuff?"Not a single personal item of hers was in sight; even the guest bathroom vanity was bare.It was as if she had taken the whole dimension with her.He had tasted this emptiness a few years back.That was when they divorced. The house staff cleared out her personal belongings at home. The vanity, once cluttered with bottles and jars, now stood empty, and the wardrobe, once scented with her perfume, was devoid of dresses, all thrown into the recycling bin.All traces of her were erased, leaving the house as clean as it was before she ever moved in.Standing in the monochrome bedroom, his first feeling wasn't relief but emptiness.At first, he thought he just needed to get used to it.Days later, every time he managed to drift off to sleep, he'd wake up disoriented for a few seconds. Only then would he remember that there wouldn't be a woman by his side anymore—no one to chatter in his ear or to playfully pout for help. "Honey, can you help me find it, please?"After three months, he still couldn't adapt to the quiet and decided to move out.Before moving into the house on Henry Lee Street, he had the interior redesigned. It was different from his past homes—a chance to help him say goodbye to everything familiar.That day, he was haunted by a headache-inducing dream again, which set off a wave of irritation.Ashley had no clue what was going on in his mind. She just noticed the air of desolation around him. "The court case is done—smoother than I expected. And I've been thinking that no matter what I do, Christian won't change his opinion of me. There's no point in occupying your place anymore."Damian clenched his hands, suppressing something. He turned back to her, his eyes as dark as the depths of the ocean. "They're coming over for dinner tomorrow night."Ashley nearly lost it. "Christian is coming here?""As usual," Damian replied. "We're having spaghetti."Her stunned response wanted to burst forth. "What do you mean we're just going to boil some frozen dumplings at home?"Was he out of his mind?Damian surveyed the sparse home, feeling its chill emptiness—it didn't feel lived-in. "Take the day off tomorrow. We'll go to a home store; this place needs to be livened up."Ashley turned her back to him, her brows furrowed in frustration. "Can't you respect me just once? Even once? When you invite people over, shouldn't I, the host, know about it beforehand?""What's unclear now?"Ha!So, she had the right to be informed but not to decide. I got it.Too angry to speak, Ashley stormed off to the living room and flopped down on the sofa.Damian didn't bother to follow her. He poked his head into the kitchen, where the stovetop was cleaner than her face, and came back out with a frown. "Skipping dinner again?"It wasn't that she wasn't eating; she just hadn't gotten to it yet.With biting sarcasm, Ashley said, "The air quality is decent today—not so much PM2.5. If you're not too full of it, maybe you'd like to cook, Damian?"He liked to barge in, which is fine. He enjoyed the kitchen, which is fine. Let him have his fill of it!Damian watched her lips moving, briefly tempted to silence them with a kiss until she was breathless. "What do you want to eat?"Ashley snorted. "Do I still have the right to choose the meal? Wow, I'm impressed."Damian kept a stern face. "Speak properly."What was with her tone? Who did she think he was?Ashley swore that talking to Damian had exhausted all her patience. If it weren't for the upbringing that drilled politeness into her since she was knee-high, a flying flip-flop would be greeting him instead. "Steamed sea bass, spicy crayfish, twice-cooked pork slices, asparagus with shredded meat, garlic broccoli, and creamy wild rice soup—that's what you've got to choose from."Damian listened quietly, a hint of a smile suppressing his lips. "Ashley, are you trying to pick a fight?""Heaven forbid," Ashley retorted. "Damian, you're a chef—simple broth won't showcase your skills. I'm providing you with a stage to shine, and we've got plenty of time. Enjoy yourself."With that, Ashley flipped on the TV and cranked up the volume to a legal channel. The host was discussing a messy divorce case in which the husband had shifted his assets before the split, and the wife, hitting a dead end for help, turned to the media to expose his tax evasion.It was such a soap opera drama.The sounds of cooking drifted out from the kitchen. Ashley's curiosity piqued, but she forced herself not to turn around—so much so that she missed how the court case ended.Twenty minutes later, Damian emerged, sleeves rolled up. "Turn off the TV. Dinner's ready."Ashley pinched herself, half convinced she was dreaming. She hadn't expected Damian actually to cook; she just wanted to infuriate him enough to drive him away.Surprisingly, he'd whipped up two dishes and a soup—sauteed chanterelles, stir-fried bell peppers with chicken legs, and a hearty soup of beef bone, kelp, and tofu.Sitting at the table, Ashley fumbled with her knife. "Did you make dinner last time, too?"Damian, ladling soup, paused to taste. "Which time?"She meant after their tumble between the sheets.Ashley clamped her mouth shut and didn't answer.The silence was so profound that not even the sounds of chewing broke it—only the occasional clink of knife against plates.The tension was enough to give someone indigestion.Ashley couldn't take it anymore. "I don't get you. You're all hot and cold—dislike me, push me away, scare me, and then you're here cooking dinner. Have you ever had a psych evaluation? Is there any chance of a split personality?"
Damian held his bite mid-air, knife dangling. "What?"
