Isabella's POV

As per the outside world, Adrian and I were just the right couple; they saw us on red carpets and in interviews while he spoke my name; they called us goals. I smiled into the camera before the red light with all pretense, locked his hand with mine for the flashguns, and topped it with hope. At this breakage, so barely held together and, if anything, seemed to widen, morning was now granting new force.

“Not very hungry this morning,” he replied, barely indicating his cup of coffee.

"Any big happenings at the recording studio?" I asked, piercingly aware of the way he paid more attention to his cuff links.

"I've got some meetings," my husband muttered. His eyes had flashed to the phone where the name Claire lit up. His face went hot, hoping to deflect my further questions to him.

"You are seeing Claire more these days." I attempted to be playful but faltered.

He replied with an expression of annoyance as if talking about his footballer mate. "Silly, she's my manager, dear. Okay?"

"Since when is dawn text part of her job?"

He didn't say a word but threw me a nasty look his face could deliver, and then he looked like having a nasty attack. He stopped me from speaking.

To this, I frowned. "You're mad now?" Pondering for only a second, "Crazy, right?"

That ended our breakfast. He kissed my cheekish style while moving towards the door. Duty rather than affection.

Life washed me in a vast span as I went through my chores. The house was too still. Six o'clock found me making a meager pizza. And at that point, the garlic, basil, and boiling pasta became his favorite dish. I poured the wine, lit the candles, and forced myself not to acknowledge anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing could be normal.

Eight O'clock. No Adrian yet.

Nine O'clock. In the kitchen- pasta appeared black in the unwashed pot, ready to burn.

By ten, Candles burned down and the candlesticks fell.

Another hour seemed like a neverending era.

An exhausted Adrian, hidden behind the tired look shed the aroma of an undying cologne. Somehow, I took it as a relief minus the anger.

""You missed dinner," I remarked with a trembling voice that seemed to tremble harder inside.

Sent forth another irritating glance at me like flaying a casual look at the dead ever-cold plates littered across the table, the non refreshed glasses. After a few staggering footsteps, he lit on a chair and took a deep breath. He grunted, "Work late."

Right on cue. I kept hearing Kate! Kate!

times without number.

"Work always runs late," I raised both my eyebrows. "An emergency meeting, another reshot scene, or caught making out with Claire?"

His eyes darkened. "Don't bring her into this."

"How can I not?" I said. "She's everywhere nowadays. Calls, texts, her name on your lips more than mine."

He gave up submitting his arms in defeat and his face once more, frustrated. Isabella, you are overreacting. Claire and I ..." he caught himself before he could confess that any working ties still thrive between him and Claire.

My heart skipped a beat. "Crossed a line?"

He remained silent, capable of uttering volumes.

I laughed a sad laugh. "So you are acknowledging that something happened?"

Obviously, he equally dismissed the notion of resistance against forced words. "One mistake. One night of regret every second of. It's over. I ended it."

With the waves turning, the words spun the room out of control. "One night?" My voice shook with despair. "You took her to bed?"

Another step forward, rubbing his chest. "Isabella, listen—"

"No!" I shouted, and I pushed him. "Do not you dare say it was nothing. Do not you dare feed me that while making me keep working to try to keep our marriage together."

He reached for me, but I turned my face. His expression contorted in pain. "I was stupid. I was really f****d up. It was wrong. I ended it with her, too, but she keeps calling, texting. I'm trying to make it right."

It was simply the truth, and it struck me to the core. My mind numbed, my chest ached for breath, yet even then I was barely able to stop my tears. "You disgust me, Adrian."

He curled his hands into fists, as if to discipline me and himself at the same time, his voice trembling, "I didn't want you to find out like this. I don't want to lose you."

"You already lost me," I said in a whisper.

He glanced my way, his eyes moist, mouth half open, as if to beg and thought otherwise, shaking his head. "I'd rather have you, now I understand. I possibly am taking a shower. We will talk after."

Disappearing into the bath, he left me in his shattered reality. My legs refused to hold me, so I sat down on the couch, staring ahead into nothing with a dead silence.

And then, Claire.

My throat clenched. Against every bit of self-respect I had left-and there was precious little-I picked up the phone. Then there came the new message. Almost dropped it from my hands, head awhirl with fear and anger, but for some reason I swiped the screen, briefly.

The video was not a simple accompanying message.

As I tapped it, the world spun.

Adrian's face was thrusting towards hers, mouthing small kisses over her neck with playful nibbles while his hand felt where for the first time someone other than I had been touched. Her laughter, his words that were never ever meant to say to me. I found it hard taking another breath while the phone fell from my hand to the floor.

The shower stopped suddenly, leaving me to listen to the pounding of my heart while my chest ached and my breaths grew more shallow. I picked up the phone for another look at the the husband who'd betrayed me.

When he stepped out of the bathroom in a towel gathered too low on his hips, he froze. His gaze momentarily wandered to the phone held in my hand with the paused video on its screen. His face lost some color.

"What are you doing with my phone?" The tone was cautionary; an edge of fear was mocking his persona.

I held the screen as much upwards as possible, then mumbled with a voice so choked and harsh-sounding that every word rang for eternity in the room. "Explain this."

He bit his lip (rubbing one hand through his very wet hair). "Isabella…"

"Don't you dare say my name like that," I spat, all consumed by trembling. "You lied. You swore it was over. You swore you'd be better. All this time—" I stopped, a tear falling from my cheek. "All this time, you were with her?"

Stepping closer toward her, he was desperate. "I didn't even know she taped it. She's been blackmailing me with it. This is it."

"And you let me sit here thinking I was just paranoid? You let me look like a fool whilst she had this?"

His shoulders slumped, voice breaking. "I was just trying to protect you."

I laughed hollowly, bitterly. "Protect me? To the point that you have broken me and humiliated me? That is protection?"

He tried again to reach for me, but I recoiled. "I didn't want to lose you," he murmured.

"Yes, you did," I said, and the tears that had filled my eyes for so long began to roll down my cheek.

Isabella's POV

A slam of the door behind me might have been the finality of a sentence I could not take back. My hands quivered a bit as I clutched in my grip a purse which felt like a concrete object that weighed a ton. Fast, I hurried through the dark street, Adrian's voice in my ears—unjustly blaming me, excusing himself, half-truth after half-truth. I could not have remained in that house for another second.

My phone buzzed in my palm. Adrian. Two seconds later, I pressed decline. Buzz. Decline. Buzz. After the fifth call, I shoved it deep into my purse, my jaw clenching with so much tension it hurt.

I had no destination in mind; I just needed to put distance between myself and home. Walking forward, I found a dull neon glow ahead. A bar. Without thinking, I walked straight toward it.

Inside, the air was filled with the fetor of liquor and smoke. I took a seat on a stool at the counter and gestured for the bartender.

“Whiskey,” I said with a voice tougher than I had intended.

The glass landed on the counter. I quickly threw it back, letting the burn allay the ache in my chest for even a few moments.

Yet that stupid phone buzzed against my thigh, and I ignored it. “Another,” I muttered.

By my third round, the brightness of my head was all good while my anger at least had blurred edges. But the ache inside still wouldn't go away. Once more, my phone buzzed on the counter. Adrian. I flipped it over and pushed it away.

“Long night?” A voice came from my left.

I slightly turned my head to face a guy who had been there, phone glued to his ear, though I realized almost instantly he was not talking to anyone. He slid in next to me, effectively ending the fake call.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair, trimmed to perfection. His eyes, stormy gray, met mine for the briefest of seconds before he shifted his gaze and ordered a drink.

I didn't reply to him. I just muttered something like, “Something like that,” and concentrated on my glass.

Time just went on while he sat in silence without saying anything, nor did I. All this while, I could feel him, like a stillness, calm yet unperturbed by the silence; it was that which unsettled me.

As soon as I stood to head to the rest room, the floor seemed to tilt beneath me. My knees buckled and I grabbed the counter, yet even this tenuous hold was not enough.

Before I could go down, a steady hand caught me.

“Easy,” he said, his arm firm around me.

“I am fine,” I lied, trying to pull away.

“You're about to fall on your face. That doesn't look fine,” he said, a calm firmness in his voice.

Still resisting him, he led me toward the ladies' room. There, I leaned against the sink, looking into the mirror. My makeup was smudged, my eyes were glassy—I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me.

“Maybe you ought to slow down,” he said, lounging against the doorframe.

I shot him a glance in the mirror. “You don't know me.”

“True,” he said, unperturbed, “but I can tell you are not here because you love whiskey on Tuesday nights.”

My throat constricted. I turned back from the mirror and mumbled, “Adrian.”

“Boyfriend?” he probed.

“Husband.” The word nearly shattered me.

He pondered silently for a moment before continuing, “And you'd rather drink than take his calls.”

His bluntness stung, but I couldn't challenge it. I crossed my arms, my voice shaking. “Maybe I don't want to hear his lies.”

“Or maybe you want him to be able to feel how it is when he calls and cannot get through to you,” he said softly.

I froze as I looked into his eyes. He did not mock me. He did not pry. He was just... steady.

“Who are you?” I suddenly needed to know.

“Victor,” he said simply.

I nodded slowly. “Isabella.”

He repeated my name as if evaluating it: “Isabella.”

The way he said it drew me closer. The room felt smaller, charged. The hammering of my pulse rang in my ears. I didn't plan it; I didn't think it through. I simply reached up and kissed him.

For a moment, he did not move. I felt his hesitation. Then his hand slid to my waist, holding me steady, and he kissed me back.

When we pulled apart, I was gasping for breath.

“That's wrong,” I whispered as soon as the words passed my lips.

“Yeah,” Victor said, but his eyes were still locked with mine, and he did not let go.

The faraway silence started wrapping around us in thick layers of unuttered words in between. My phone buzzed on the top of the bar. Neither of us made a move to answer it.

“I shouldn't—” I started.

“Then don't,” he cut in softly.

But I didn't walk away.

After this, everything seemed to blur: the bar, his arms leading me outside, the calm dim of the city, his low and steady voice grounding me when my own thoughts were spinning too fast. I knew I should stop. I didn't.

The next time I opened my eyes, sunlight streamed through an unfamiliar curtain. My head was pounding, and I pushed myself upright slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.

Hotel room.

Then a shot of panic coursed through my chest. I turned toward the nightstand. A folded note lay on top. My hands shook as I unfolded it.

Last night was great. – Victor

The note slipped from my fingers; I collapsed forward and folded my arms upon my knees, chest tight and heart racing.

Nearby, my phone lit up on the small side table, displaying dozens of missed calls.

My throat suddenly constricted. They came crashing down on me—shame, anger, regret.

“What have I done?” I whispered to the silence.

But nothing answered, only heavy silence in this strange room, filled with the truth that I could not escape.

To further ruin an already miserable day, I picked myself off the floor and called my lawyer.

“Let’s meet.” I said, as soon as she picked up the phone, foregoing all small talk.

Isabella's POV

The kiss of the stranger had lost its touch on my skin, but the flames still burned in between me and that guilt. A line crossed that I never thought I would, and it felt like an echo of the betrayal I had suffered through. Adrian destroyed our vows, and last night I destroyed everything else.

This morning, though, my decision was clear and unchangeable. I walked up into my lawyer's office with my neck held high, although there was queasiness inside.

"I want a divorce," I said earlier than he could even greet me.

He set down his pen and sized me up carefully. "Mrs. Cole-"

"Isabella," I snapped. "Just Isabella. Don't call me by his name again."

He furrowed his brow but nodded. "Isabella, divorce from Adrian will be messy. His team will fight tooth and nail to protect his reputation. Are you ready for that?"

"I don't care what they fight for. I'm not staying in this sham another second. Draft the papers."

He hesitated. "Do you want to discuss settlements, assets-"

"Not today." I stood quickly, my pulse racing. "Just start the process. He can have the money, the cars, the image. I want my freedom."

His silence felt heavy, but I didn't care. I left before my resolve cracked.

---

The walls were echoing worse than ever, making all the memories I wish to forget invisible under the surface. But laughter cut the noise. A woman's laugh.

I froze.

The ground beneath my feet continued on its arc toward the living room; there she was-Clara. Adrian's manager. The woman on the tape. Sitting pretty there on my couch balance like it owned her.

"You have got to be kidding me," I spat.

She squirmed, but there was Adrian standing up quickly, his complexion paling, "Izzy-"

"Don't you dare call me that." My eyes burned into him, then slid to her. "Why is she in my house?"

Clara wanted to open her mouth. "I just came to-"

"Don't," I cut her off. "I don't want to hear lies from you. Not in my living room."

Adrian took a careful step forward. "Isabella, listen. I asked her here. I wanted to talk. I need to explain-"

"Explain?" I laughed bitterly. "Explain how you betrayed me with your manager? How you dragged our marriage into the gutter while smiling for cameras?"

Clara looked at the floor, but Adrian's voice grew desperate: "It wasn't what you think. I was lost, I-"

"Lost?" My voice rose, shaking. "Lost men don't end up in bed with the same woman who books their flights and answers their calls. Don't insult me."

His eyes flickered with panic. "I still love you. I want to fix this. We can go to therapy, we can-"

"Love?" My chest ached with the word. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have humiliated me in front of the entire world. You wouldn't have broken us."

That silence stretched, like a knife between the two of us. My hands trembled as I grabbed my purse.

"I'm finished," I said through clenched teeth. "Stay with her. Reconcile. Ruin each other for all I care. But don't expect me to stay and watch."

He stormed out, leaving behind the echo of his pleading voice.

---

Anger turned to exhaustion by the time I reached my mother's home. I needed her. I needed someone who still felt like home.

"Mom?" I called as I entered.

The answer was quiet. My steps slowed when I noticed the bare walls. Family portraits were gone. The shelves were empty. Boxes lined the corners of the room.

My heart thudded. "Mom?"

She appeared from the corridor, dressed in a new cream frock that I had never seen before. Her smile was soft but strange. "Isabella. You have come."

I stared at the barren living room. "What is happening? Why is the house like this?"

"Sure, honey. I was going to tell you. I just didn't know how," she hesitated, smoothing her dress.

There was a lump in my throat. "Tell me what?"

Her eyes met mine, calm but serious. "I'm getting married."

The words hit like ice water. I blinked. "Married? To who?"

"His name is Victor. We've been seeing each other for a while. He makes me happy, Isabella. He makes me feel alive again."

I staggered back a step. "And you didn't think to tell me? You were just going to pack up and leave without a word?"

"I wasn't hiding it to hurt you," she said gently. "I wanted to wait until the time was right."

"The right time?" My rather ragged voice cracked. "Mom, my life is collapsing. I just came from my lawyer's office. I told Adrian it is over. I walk in here hoping to breathe, and what do I find? My mother disappearing too."

She reached for me, but I pulled away.

"Sweetheart, I'm not leaving you. You'll always be my daughter. But I can't live my life in pause. I deserve love too."

Tears blurred my vision. "And what about me? What about the daughter whose marriage just exploded in front of the world? I needed you to be here, and you taking off with someone else?"

Her face softened with pain. "I'll always be here for you. But I won't sacrifice my happiness forever. One day, you will understand. And you can come live with me if you want."