The morning began like any other, except for the dull ache behind Isabelle's eyes. She hadn't slept well. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that spreadsheet — Robert's name and that cursed timestamp.
She arrived at the office early, long before the usual hum of conversation began. The city outside was slick and grey, streaks of rain sliding down the glass as if the sky itself were weary.
Her hand trembled only slightly as she unlocked her office. The pen camera sat exactly where she'd left it — among the other pens, neat and innocent. She turned on her computer, inserted the small memory card, and opened the footage.
For several minutes, nothing but stillness. The usual shadows lengthened, then disappeared as the lights were turned off for the night.
Then, movement.
A shape near the doorway.
Isabelle leaned closer. The angle wasn't perfect, but she could see someone enter her office — a tall figure in a suit. The lighting was dim, their face obscured.
The person hesitated, looked around, then moved to her desk. They rifled through a drawer — only briefly — before straightening up again.
Then came a glint — the faintest reflection from the watch on their wrist.
A silver band.
She knew that watch. She'd seen it before.
Her pulse quickened.
Robert's watch was silver.
Richard's too.
And probably half the men in London's, if she had to guess.
She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to think. It was too dark, too grainy to be sure. The person hadn't taken anything — at least not visibly. But they'd been there, at her desk, long after hours.
Her decoy document had been opened. The bait had worked.
But she still didn't know who had taken it.
She'd barely processed it when Sienna breezed into the office, coffee in hand and perfume so strong it cut through the air like citrus and arrogance.
"Morning, Belle," she chirped, the cheerfulness fake enough to curdle milk. "I noticed Richard's calendar looked a bit messy, so I thought I'd tidy it up for him. You must be rushed off your feet, poor thing."
Isabelle's heart clenched. "I've got it under control, thank you."
"Of course you do." Sienna smiled, the kind of smile that said she didn't mean it. "I just like to be helpful. Team player, you know?"
"Right," Isabelle said coolly. "Team player."
She kept her face composed, but her mind was racing. If Sienna had accessed Richard's calendar, she might have had access to Isabelle's documents too.
Isabelle made a mental note to change her passwords, again — and to start keeping certain files off the shared system altogether.
Later that morning, she crossed paths with Robert near the conference room. He was talking quietly to another executive, voice low and clipped. He looked up as she passed.
"Morning," he said evenly.
"Morning."
She didn't trust herself to say more.
He studied her briefly, his gaze cool, but searching, as though he was trying to read her mood. Then he gave a polite nod and returned to his conversation.
The exchange lasted all of three seconds, but it left her unsettled.
Had he been in her office? Was he pretending not to know?
Or was she beginning to imagine things?
By midday, her head was pounding. The endless second-guessing, the quiet sabotage, the careful control; it was wearing her down. She managed to get through her meetings and respond to emails, but her concentration frayed with each passing hour.
When she finally escaped the office that evening, she called her mother to check how she was feeling after the robbery.
"Oh, I'm fine now, love," her mum said, though her voice was still a little shaky. "I phoned the bank, cancelled my cards, got everything sorted. Just a bit of a fright, that's all."
"Good," Isabelle said, relieved. "You've been through enough this week."
"I just keep thinking…" her mother continued gently. "You've got so much on your plate. Work, the kids, your boss. You never stop."
"Don't worry about me, Mum."
"I know, darling. But it's not good to carry everything on your own. You need someone to share the load with."
Isabelle smiled faintly, walking along the damp pavement toward the station. "I don't have time for that sort of thing."
Her mum gave a small laugh. "Everyone says that until they meet someone who makes time worth finding. You're still young, Isabelle. You shouldn't spend all your evenings alone with a laptop and work files."
"I'm fine."
"You could try online dating," her mum said brightly, as though suggesting a new hobby. "Seems everyone's doing it these days. It's not like it used to be; people actually find nice matches now. You could just… see what's out there."
Isabelle let out a quiet laugh. "Mum, I think the only thing I'd find is disappointment."
"Oh, stop that. You never know who might be looking for someone just like you."
The idea was absurd. She couldn't imagine herself swiping through strangers in between feeding the kids and preparing meeting agendas.
Later that night, once the children were asleep and the house finally quiet, Isabelle sat on her bed with her laptop balanced on her knees. The rain tapped lightly at the window, London's constant lullaby.
She thought about her mother's words, about the lonely rhythm her life had fallen into; work, home, exhaustion, repeat. She loved her children, but her evenings had grown silent in ways that felt deeper than rest.
Almost without thinking, she opened her browser and typed "best dating app UK 2025."
Hundreds of results. Lists, reviews, success stories. One app kept appearing at the top: TrueMatch — sleek design, real profiles, "built for busy professionals."
Built for busy professionals.
The phrase made her smile despite herself. That was certainly one way to sell loneliness.
She downloaded it anyway. The setup was simple — name, photo, occupation, interests. She typed each field carefully, keeping her answers short, factual.
Name: Isabelle Cole.
Occupation: Executive Assistant.
Location: London.
Interests: Reading, travel (someday), walks by the river, good coffee.
When it came to "What are you looking for?", she paused.
She stared at the blinking cursor for a long time, then typed:
Someone to stand beside me.
Then deleted it.
After a few moments, she closed the app before it could publish her profile. She wasn't ready.
Maybe in a few days, once she'd thought about it. Once she wasn't so tired.
For now, it was enough to have the possibility sitting quietly on her phone; a secret she hadn't told anyone.
The next morning, Isabelle returned to work early again, determined to review the footage once more. She loaded the pen camera's memory card and scrubbed through to the same moment.
Something she hadn't noticed before caught her eye; for a second, the figure's face turned slightly, caught in the faint glow from the corridor light.
It wasn't clear, not fully, but she saw the faintest glimpse of a pale scar just by the left ear.
Her stomach flipped. She'd seen that mark before.
Robert had one just like it.
She sat back, pulse quickening.
If she was right, he had been in her office after hours.
But why?
Before she could process the thought, Sienna appeared again, holding a stack of folders. "Oh, Isabelle, Richard said he wanted these minutes printed and delivered, but you must've missed the deadline last night. He looked a bit cross about it."
Isabelle frowned. "I never received anything to print."
Sienna gave a sympathetic shrug. "Oh, that's odd. Must've got lost in your inbox. These things happen."
Something in her tone made Isabelle's blood simmer. Sienna was lying. She could see it in the faint smirk hiding behind her faux concern.
"Thanks for letting me know," Isabelle said evenly. "I'll handle it."
As Sienna turned to go, Isabelle caught sight of her reflection in the glass; she was smiling to herself.
By the end of the day, Isabelle felt hollowed out. Between the shadow of Robert's possible guilt, Sienna's ongoing interference, and her responsibilities at home echoing in her head, she could barely tell which part of her life was more exhausting.
That night, she lay awake long after the children had gone to sleep. The flat was quiet, save for the distant sound of buses on the street below and the steady rhythm of rain.
Her phone lay on the bedside table, she remembered the TrueMatch app she'd downloaded.
Isabelle picked it up, opened it again, and stared at her half-finished profile.
Her finger hovered over the final button: Go Live.
After a long moment, she locked the phone and set it aside.
Not tonight.