The rain was relentless. It felt personal, like the sky was trying to wash her out of existence. Isadora took a step off the curb to look for a cab, and her right foot slipped on an oil slick.

She flailed, catching herself before she hit the ground, but her right heel snapped. The shoe came off, skittering into a puddle of black water.

"No," she whispered. "Please, no."

She stood there, one foot bare on the freezing asphalt, the other in a broken shoe. She kicked the broken one off. Being barefoot was better than the imbalance. The pavement was rough and gritty against her soles.

She pulled her phone out. The screen flickered green, then went black. Water damage.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to preserve whatever body heat she had left. She was shaking violently now.

A pair of headlights cut through the darkness. Twin beams of white light that illuminated the falling rain like diamonds.

A black car slowed down. It wasn't a taxi. It was the same custom sedan from before.

Isadora tried to step back into the shadows, shame burning in her chest. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. Especially not Kingston's people.

The car stopped right beside her. The rear window rolled down halfway.

Kingston Riddle sat in the back. The interior light cast shadows across his sharp cheekbones. He looked at her-at her wet hair, her ruined dress, her bare feet standing in the gutter.

He didn't look pitying. He looked angry. His jaw was set tight.

The driver was out of the car in a second, holding a massive black umbrella. He opened the rear door.

"Miss Dyer," the driver said. "Please."

Isadora shook her head, her teeth chattering. "I... I can't. I'm wet. I'll ruin the leather."

"Get in," Kingston said. His voice cut through the sound of the rain. It wasn't a suggestion. "Don't make me say it twice."

The authority in his voice triggered an automatic response. Isadora ducked under the umbrella and scrambled into the back seat.

The door closed, sealing out the noise of the city. The silence inside was absolute. The air was warm and smelled of that same cedar and gin scent.

Kingston pressed a button on the armrest. The partition between them and the driver slid up, turning the glass opaque. They were in a private capsule.

He looked at her shivering form. Without a word, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. He took it off and leaned over, draping it around her shoulders.

The jacket was heavy, warm, and lined with silk. It engulfed her. Isadora pulled the lapels tight against her neck, burying her nose in the fabric. It smelled like safety.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, water dripping from her hair onto the pristine leather seats. "I'm making a mess."

Kingston ignored her apology. He opened a small refrigerated compartment and pulled out a bottle of water. He cracked the seal and handed it to her.

"Drink."

Isadora took it, her hands shaking so much the water sloshed. She took a sip.

Kingston watched her for a moment, then reached into a storage cubby near his door. He pulled out a small white box.

He set it on the console between them and opened the lid.

Inside was a single vanilla cupcake with white frosting. It looked simple, almost out of place in the luxury car.

Isadora stared at it, then up at him. Her mascara was definitely smeared under her eyes. She must look like a raccoon.

"It was supposed to be dessert at the dinner I just left," Kingston said, his voice flat. "I doubt you ate."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. He flicked it. A small flame danced in the dim light. He held it over the cupcake, pretending there was a candle there.

"Make a wish," he said.

Isadora looked at the flame. It reflected in Kingston's grey eyes, making them look almost silver.

She thought about wishing for Grafton to love her. But the memory of the word burden rose up, choking her.

She closed her eyes. I wish to be free of him. I wish to find myself.

She blew out the imaginary candle. Kingston snapped the lighter shut. The click was final.

"Happy Birthday, Isadora," he said softly.

He pushed the box toward her. Isadora picked up the cupcake. She took a bite. The frosting was sweet, melting on her tongue, chasing away the bitter taste of champagne and bile.

She ate the whole thing in silence. Kingston didn't speak. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, giving her the privacy to eat like a starving person.

The car slowed to a stop. Isadora looked out the window. They were at her apartment.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was stronger now.

Kingston didn't open his eyes. "Keep the jacket. The driver will walk you to the door."

Isadora hesitated, then opened the door. The cold air rushed in, but she was warm inside the oversized suit coat.

"If you need anything," Kingston said, still not looking at her, "you know where to find me."

Isadora stepped out. She watched the taillights of the sedan disappear around the corner before she turned to face her empty building.

The next morning, Isadora woke up with a headache that throbbed behind her eyes. She saw Kingston's jacket hanging on her chair. It was dry now, but still smelled like him.

She checked the pockets before putting it in a bag for the dry cleaners. Her fingers brushed against something hard.

She pulled it out. It was a single cufflink. Silver, engraved with the Riddle family crest-a wolf holding a spear. She ran her thumb over the raised metal. It felt heavy, substantial. She put it in her jewelry box, right next to her pearl earrings.

She went to her office early. She had a board meeting at the company café.

Zoe met her there, slamming a coffee down on the table.

"He called me three times," Zoe said, her eyes blazing. "Asking where you were. I told him to go to hell. He's an idiot, Isadora. A blind, selfish idiot."

Isadora stirred her tea. "It's okay, Zoe. I'm over it."

"You can't be over it in a day."

"I can," Isadora said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, battered cardboard box. "I have to be."

Inside was a silver chain with a cheap heart pendant. Grafton had won it for her at a carnival when they were eighteen. She had worn it every day for four years until the metal started to turn her skin green.

Later that afternoon, Isadora sat with Alex, a junior analyst from her Econ department. Alex was nice. He had messy brown hair and a laugh that made his eyes crinkle.

"So, the elasticity of demand," Alex was saying, using a french fry to point at the financial report. "It's basically like dating. The more available you are, the less value you have."

Isadora laughed. It was a real laugh, surprising her. "That is a terrible analogy, Alex."

"But accurate!"

"Isadora?"

The voice came from behind her. Isadora stiffened. Her laugh died instantly.

Grafton was standing there. He was wearing a cashmere sweater, his briefcase slung over one shoulder. He looked tired. He looked at Alex, then at Isadora, his brow furrowing.

"Where did you go last night?" Grafton asked. "I looked everywhere for you."

Isadora turned in her chair. She didn't stand up. "I wasn't feeling well."

Grafton's eyes flicked to Alex again. "Who's this?"

"I'm Alex," Alex said, extending a hand.

Grafton ignored the hand. He stared at Isadora. "We need to talk. Come outside."

It was the tone he always used. The 'I'm the main character' tone.

"I'm busy, Grafton," Isadora said, turning back to her report. "We have a deadline."

Silence. Grafton stood there, stunned. Isadora never said no.

"Isadora, don't be like this," Grafton said, reaching out to grab her arm. "You're acting weird."

His fingers touched her bicep.

Isadora jerked her arm away. The movement was sharp, violent.

"Don't touch me," she said. Her voice was ice cold.

The chatter in the café stopped. People turned to look. Grafton recoiled as if she had slapped him. His face flushed red.

"Whoa," Grafton said, holding his hands up. "Okay. You're still mad about Bella. Look, don't be so petty, Isadora. It's not a good look on you."

Petty.

Isadora stood up. She reached into her bag and pulled out the cardboard box. She slammed it onto the table. It made a dull thud.

"I'm not mad," Isadora said. "I'm done."

"What is that?" Grafton asked, looking at the box.

"It's the necklace," Isadora said. "I don't want it. I don't want anything from you."

Grafton looked at the box, then at her face. Panic flickered in his eyes. "You're giving it back? Why? That's... that's ours."

"There is no 'us', Grafton," Isadora said. "I'm not your little sister. I'm not your mascot. And I'm definitely not your burden."

She saw the recognition in his eyes. He knew.

"Isadora, wait-"

"Let's go, Alex," Isadora said. She grabbed her bag.

Alex scrambled up, sensing the tension. "Uh, yeah. Let's go to the conference room."

Isadora walked away. She didn't look back.

Grafton stood there, his hand hovering over the cardboard box. He looked at her retreating back, and for the first time in his life, he felt a gnawing emptiness in his gut. She was walking away. She wasn't supposed to walk away. She was supposed to stay.

Across the street, a white Range Rover was parked. The window was down an inch.

Bella lowered her sunglasses. She watched Grafton staring after Isadora. She saw the desperation in his posture.

Her fingers dug into the leather steering wheel. Her perfectly manicured nail snapped.

"She has to go," Bella whispered.

Grafton spent the rest of the day staring at his phone. He typed out text messages and deleted them. I didn't mean it. You took it out of context. Are we still on for Sunday brunch?

He couldn't hit send. The memory of Isadora's cold eyes in the café haunted him.

That night, he drove to her apartment. He parked his Porsche illegally in front of the fire hydrant and waited.

At 9:00 PM, Isadora came out the front door carrying a bag of recycling. She was wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. She looked tired.

Grafton jumped out of the car. "Isadora!"

Isadora froze. She looked at him, then at the recycling bin. She sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion. She walked over, dumped the glass bottles-they crashed loudly-and turned to go back inside.

"Isadora, please," Grafton said, blocking her path to the door. "Can we just talk? Like normal people?"

"We aren't normal people anymore, Grafton," Isadora said. She wrapped her arms around herself against the night chill.

"Look," Grafton said, running a hand through his hair. "At the club... I didn't ignore you on purpose. Bella just got back from Paris, and she's insecure, okay? She needs a lot of reassurance."

"It doesn't matter," Isadora said.

"It does matter!" Grafton's voice rose. "We've been friends for twenty years. You can't just throw that away because I have a fiancée."

Isadora looked up at him. The streetlamp cast harsh shadows on his face. He looked like a petulant child who had lost his favorite toy.

"I heard you," Isadora said softly.

Grafton stopped. "What?"

"In the bathroom," Isadora said. "I heard you talking to Topher. You said I was a burden. You said I was like a child."

all the color drained from Grafton's face. "Isadora... I..."

"Did you say it?"

"It was just guy talk!" Grafton pleaded, stepping closer. "I was just trying to... you know, look cool in front of the guys. I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did," Isadora said. "And you were right. I was dependent on you. I built my whole world around you. And that was my mistake."

"No," Grafton said, reaching for her. "No, Izzy. I take it back. I need you. You keep me grounded."

Isadora took a step back, dodging his hand. "You don't need a friend, Grafton. You need a fan. And I resigned."

"I am serious," Isadora said. "I wish you and Bella the best. Goodbye."

She turned and swiped her fob at the door. The lock buzzed. She pulled the heavy glass door open and slipped inside.

"Isadora!" Grafton slammed his hand against the glass.

Isadora didn't turn around. She walked to the elevator and pressed the button.

Grafton stood on the sidewalk, watching her disappear. He felt a surge of anger. How dare she? After everything he did for her?

He punched the glass again, harder this time. The doorman inside glared at him.

Grafton stormed back to his car. His phone rang. It was Bella.

"Hey, baby," Bella cooed. "Where are you?"

"I'm... out," Grafton said, his voice shaking with rage. "Isadora is being crazy. She's cutting me off."

"Oh no," Bella said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "That's terrible. She's probably just jealous. Listen, why don't we invite her to dinner tomorrow? At Le Bernardin. My treat. I'll apologize to her, smooth everything over. If she sees we're trying, she'll come around."

Grafton gripped the steering wheel. It was a lifeline. "You think so?"

"I know so," Bella said. "She just needs to see that I'm not the enemy."

"Okay," Grafton said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Okay. Let's do that."

He hung up, feeling better. A dinner. A nice, expensive dinner. That fixed everything.

In her penthouse uptown, Bella set her phone down on her vanity. She looked at her reflection. She applied a coat of dark red lipstick.

She smiled. It was a shark's smile.

"Let's see how much she loves you after tomorrow," Bella whispered to the mirror.