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."

Isabella's POV

"Eleanor... please, I need you to talk to her," he said.

It crushed my heart. He had said my mother's name.

"She won't even look at me," Adrian said, his voice cracking. "Please, Eleanor, she'll listen to you."

I was breathless; every nerve completely stretched with tension.

Then my mother entered the scene, as sharp and jagged as glass. "Adrian, can you hear yourself? You humiliated her, and us. And now, you ask me to fix it?"

"I just want her to know I still love her," he said.

"That isn't love that destroys one," she shot back. "I'll talk to her. But don't expect any miracles from me." And she hung up.

Now I could scarcely breathe. Adrian had sunk against the wall, head bent with the dead phone limply in his other hand. I did not wait for him to notice me. I grabbed a bag, stuffed some clothing in it, and walked out without looking back.

---

It's all too hazy, lights streaking before me. My palms throb holding tightly on to the steering. Each breath rips a hole deeper in my chest. It is more like a beacon across the sun at night with a comforting glow in the dark corner of my life where my mother's lights were calling.

Before I even knocked, she threw herself into the door and drew me into her open arms.

''Isabella!'' It hugged me and enveloped me in the scent of warm silk, almost smothered but let's say cocooned into what I had long been yearning for.

"Just for a while, up until after the wedding, I can't be with him," I whispered.

"You don't have to explain it," she tightened her hold on my hand.

And then I saw him.

Tall. Familiar. Wrong.

Victor.

He was the one mistake I had managed to bury-the sting of his lips on the slip of my guard still lingering. His stormy gray eyes widened in shock, seeming to communicate on my own.

"Oh, this is Victor," my mother announced with a glow completely unaware.

He revives quickly from his astonishment and comes toward me with that strange smile of his. "A pleasure, Isabella."

I twisted my lips slightly into something resembling a smile and I offered him my hand. "Nice to meet you." The lie burned.

Dinner was like walking right into a trap: no escaping it now. My mother poured the drinks with wine, chattered about the wedding arrangements now totally unaware of the brewing storm under the table.

"By the way, Isabella," she burst out of nowhere, her sparkling eyes boring into me, "What's your opinion on Victor?"

My fork halted. Heat crept up my neck. I managed a smile. "He seems...kind."

Victor features around the mountain cliff, raw knuckles atop the stem stark white. "Your mother is a remarkable woman, and I'm fortunate to be at her side". His eyes flicked to me, sharp with memory.

I scrapped my fork through china roughly. "I'm sure you are," I said.

The smile suddenly dropped from his face. "She deserves the best," he insisted, voice even but strained.

"Already flattering?" Mother teased, hand soft against his. "See, Isabella? He's fabulous."

"Oh yes," I returned brittlely. "Fabulous."

But his gaze kept tenderly pulling me back. Every time we made eye contact, memories of that night flashed behind my eyelids: his hands ripping me, voice raspy against my skin. The twisting agony of shame coiled my stomach into knots. I averted my eyes, stabbing at food I could not eat.

"Yes, such as: "So, Victor," I said a bit too harshly, "what is it that you do?"

"Investments. Lots of travels," he said smoothly and interestingly rehearsed, as his leg bounces under the table like a ticking clock.

As she says, "Very successful! More than that, he listens to me", Mother beams proudly, "He makes me laugh."

That's... good, I added, mine faltering.

A thick silence fell over us as we dined; the only sound was the clattering of cutlery in the distance, like bullets shells falling deep into the earth. Every time I raised my glass, my hand shook. His eyes seem to hold me captive; when I dare return his gaze, I expect that the storm within his will break me.

My mother reached across the table and grabbed Victor's hand, lacing her fingers with his. She gave him a soft look with a tender lit face and said, "I can't wait for you to walk me down the aisle, Victor."

Shattered in me were those words. My mother's lover; my mistake.

Victor looked down over her with such warmth, the splay of his fingers closed on hers. But when his eyes cut over to mine, all unspoken guilt seemed to scream louder than words.

One hard swallow, and I plastered on my mask of composure while everything inside me unraveled. The air turned oppressive, heavy. I wanted to yell or run, but here I was stuck, bound to my chair, smiling on a string like some pathetic puppet.

Mother excused herself to fetch her wedding notes, and then I started choking.

With shaking hands, I fled to my old bedroom, shutting the door behind me. The moment I fell on the bed, the tears began to pour down. All became frantic thoughts across a heart weighted with lead: Among all men why this one?