The page trembled slightly in Isabelle's hands.
She'd read Nathan's letter three times already, and still, the words pulsed beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. Honest. Raw. Unfiltered in a way he hadn't been in years.
> "You were never just a wife.
You were never just mine."
She pressed her fingers to her lips, as if to stop the sob that nearly slipped out. It wasn't grief—it was… grief and something else. Something dangerously close to longing.
But longing for what? The man who finally saw her? Or the man who saw her too late?
She folded the page and slipped it back between the sketchbook's leaves. She didn't want to lose it—but she couldn't hold it either. It was too heavy. Too soft.
Nathan had been safety.
But Elijah was risk.
---
That afternoon, the world outside burned with August heat, but inside her small studio, it was Elijah who set the air on fire.
He stood by the open window, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, reading one of her newer paintings with an intensity that unnerved her.
It was a red piece—sharp strokes, fingers not brushes. Raw. Wild. Messy. She hadn't meant to show it to anyone.
"You made this?" he asked, not turning to face her.
She nodded slowly. "Last night."
He finally turned, his gaze hot and knowing. "This one's not for the public. It's for you. Or for someone who's seen the inside of your ribs."
She crossed her arms, trying to shield herself from his eyes. "Why are you really here, Elijah?"
He stepped closer. "Because you called me without saying a word."
"I didn't."
He stopped inches from her, voice low. "You didn't have to. I've felt you tugging at me for weeks. Every time you paint like this, I taste you."
Her breath hitched.
She hated how he knew just the right words to make her defenses melt—and she hated even more how she wanted to believe them.
"Elijah… I'm still married."
"Yes," he said, voice softer. "But are you still in it?"
Silence.
---
They sat across from each other, knees almost touching, wine between them, the air growing thick with unspoken memories.
"Elijah," she finally said, "what is this to you?"
He leaned back. "It's not about claiming you. I know you're torn. But if you think I came back just to have sex with a married woman…" He paused. "Then you never really knew how deeply you got under my skin."
She wanted to scoff—but couldn't.
Because she had gotten under his skin. And he'd never forgiven her for walking away, just as she'd never truly let him go.
She swirled her wine. "Nathan wrote me a letter. It was... different. Vulnerable. I think he finally sees me."
Elijah's jaw flexed. "After how many years? After how many times you screamed inside yourself with no one listening?"
She looked down, throat tightening.
Elijah leaned in again, his hand brushing hers. "Tell me honestly, Isabelle. When he finally touches you now, does it feel like home—or obligation?"
She looked up.
And in that instant, Elijah saw the answer.
---
The next hour blurred.
A kiss. Another. His mouth on her shoulder, his fingers in her hair, his hands learning her again like music he hadn't played in years.
But she stopped him. Pressed both palms to his chest. Her breath shaky.
"Elijah, I can't. Not yet."
His eyes searched hers. "Why?"
"Because… if I cross this line, it's not about Nathan anymore. It's about me. And I don't want this to be something I regret for the wrong reasons."
He nodded, but the heat between them didn't fade.
"Then let me be what reminds you what you deserve," he said.
---
That night, Isabelle lay alone in her apartment, staring at the ceiling, the imprint of Elijah's lips still tingling on her skin.
She hadn't told Nathan where she was.
She hadn't blocked Elijah.
She hadn't made any decisions.
And yet, something inside her already knew—this crossroads wasn't about choosing between men.
It was about whether she would keep betraying herself… or start choosing what made her come alive.
The seductress in her had been born out of loneliness.
But now?
She was becoming something else entirely.
And for the first time, Isabelle wasn't afraid of where her desires might lead her.
---