Chapter 165 The Armed Arrival

Chapter 165 The Armed Arrival
The brass hands on the wall clock pointed straight past eleven.

Isabella blinked hard, her vision clearing as the numbers locked into focus.

She threw the heavy quilt off her legs, her chest tight with sudden confusion.

She had never slept past sunrise in her life, yet the morning sun was already high above the window frame.

Her limbs felt heavy and strange, as if lead filled her muscles.

The bedside phone buzzed against the dark wood, rattling the water glass.

Isabella reached out, her fingers catching the metal frame on the second ring.

She swiped the green bar and brought the phone to her ear.

"Gideon?" she asked, her voice rough and dry.

"You're awake," Gideon said from the other end.

He let out a long breath over the line. "The guards said you didn't answer the door for breakfast."

"I overslept," Isabella said, rubbing the back of her stiff neck. "I don't know why I feel so wiped out today."

"Your body is still recovering from the hospital," Gideon said quickly.

"I'm getting dressed right now," Isabella said, swinging her bare feet over the side of the mattress. "I'll take a car down to the office to help you with the southern shipping manifests."

"Don't come to the office," Gideon told her.

Isabella paused, her toes touching the cold rug. "Why not? You said yesterday we're behind on three supplier routes."

"Stay home today," Gideon ordered, his tone firm. "Rest in your room."

The line went dead silent for five seconds.

Isabella held the receiver against her ear, listening to the faint hum of office air conditioning in the background.

"Gideon?" she asked. "Are you still there?"

"Pack your clothes, Isabella," Gideon said.

Isabella frowned, her grip tightening on the phone. "What did you just say?"

"Pack your essential things into two suitcases," Gideon repeated, his voice dropping low. "Make sure you grab your passport and private identification cards."

Isabella stood up from the bed, her brows pulling together. "Why are you telling me to pack? What's going on at the tower?"

"Well, you can stay if you really want to put on a veil for that Morris bastard," Gideon remarked, his voice sharp with dry sarcasm. "The choice is yours."

Isabella froze beside the bed.

The sarcasm hit her like cold water, and the pieces snapped together in her head.

"You want me to run," she said.

Gideon didn't deny it.

"You want me to pack my bags, get in a car, and leave the Capital before their lawyers come back," Isabella said, her voice rising. "That's why you're telling me to take my passport."

"A private car will pick you up at the back gate tonight," Gideon said flatly. "You'll cross the border before dawn."

Isabella let out a slow breath and leaned against the wooden post of her bed.

"Cancel the car, Gideon," she said.

"Don't argue with me, Isabella," Gideon snapped. "I don't have time to fight with you."

"I'm not arguing," she replied, keeping her voice level and steady. "I'll marry him."

The silence on the line stretched out for another three seconds.

"What did you say?" Gideon asked, his voice dead of emotion.

"I said I'll go through with the marriage," Isabella told him.

She looked at the sunlight cutting across the floorboards. "I stayed up thinking about everything after you left my room last night. You were right about our financial situation. We owe a billion dollars, and our family can't survive a complete corporate default."

"Isabella, stop talking," Gideon said.

"It's just a piece of paper, Gideon," she continued, ignoring his warning. "It's just a legal marriage contract. I'll sign the document, move into their guest wing, and hold the title for a year. Once our distribution network stabilizes and we pay off the debt, I'll file for divorce."

"No," Gideon barked into the receiver.

Isabella pulled the phone away from her ear for a second, startled by the pure rage in his voice.

"What do you mean, no?" she asked, putting the phone back to her cheek.

"Yesterday you begged me to sign the agreement. You told me the family would fall apart if we didn't honor the terms."

"I don't care what I said yesterday," Gideon stated, his teeth grinding over the words. "You're not signing that paper, and you're not stepping foot inside the Morris estate."

"Why are you changing your mind now?" she demanded, baffled by his sudden fury. "I'm offering to save our business."

"Because I said so," Gideon growled. "Pack your bags and be ready by eight tonight."

The line clicked dead before she could get another word out.

Isabella lowered the phone, staring at the blank screen with a deep scowl.

\---

Across town on the top floor of the Cross corporate tower, Gideon threw his mobile phone onto the desk.

He stared down at the black leather binder resting on his blotter.

The final page sat open beneath the metal clip, displaying Isabella's red thumbprint right beside the signature box. The ink was dry, permanent, and clean.

Gideon reached out with both hands, gripping the edges of the thick paper. He prepared to rip the page down the center.

He stopped.

His fingers hovered over the paper, his jaw locking tight as his mind calculated the board's balance sheets.

Ripping the document wouldn't save them. It would only bring the Morris enforcers down on their offices with court orders and armed bailiffs.

A cold, sharp resolve settled behind his eyes.

Gideon pulled his hands back from the paper. He closed the black binder, slid it into a heavy security envelope, and pressed the adhesive seal shut.

He picked up his desk phone and dialed the front desk. "Send the courier up. The filing is ready for Black Diamond Holdings."

\---

The next morning arrived with thick gray clouds hanging over the Capital skyline.

Inside the grand dining room of the Cross estate, the long mahogany table was set with porcelain bowls and warm tea.

Isabella sat across from Gideon, picking at her food with a silver fork. She hadn't packed a single bag, and the silence between them was thick and tense.

Gideon took a sip of his black coffee, his face an unreadable mask.

The heavy double doors of the dining hall banged open with a deafening crash.

The head house guard stumbled into the room, his uniform jacket unbuttoned, his face drenched in cold sweat.

"Young Master Gideon!" the guard shouted, gripping the doorframe to steady his shaking knees.

Gideon set his cup down on the saucer with a sharp click. "What happened?"

"The Morris family is at our main gates right now, sir!" the guard wheezed, pointing a trembling hand toward the front driveway.

Isabella dropped her fork onto the plate with a loud clatter.

"They aren't sending lawyers today," the guard gasped, terror bleeding into every word. "Lord Morris came in person, and he brought six armored trucks full of heavily armed mercenaries."