Isabella woke three days later feeling almost human again.
The fever had broken. Her throat no longer felt like broken glass. Her head had stopped pounding. She could actually think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.
She sat up slowly, blinking at her unfamiliar surroundings—her bedroom in the penthouse, morning light streaming through the windows.
How long had she been out?
Her phone sat on the nightstand, plugged in, next to a glass of water and a bottle of fever reducers. She didn't remember putting any of those things there.
Isabella checked her phone. Seventy-two hours. She'd been sick for three full days.
And there were no messages from Liam. No calls. No texts demanding she return to work.
Had he fired her? Was the contract voided? Had she ruined everything by being weak?
Panic clawed at her chest as she stumbled out of bed, her legs shaky but functional. She needed to find Liam, needed to explain, needed to—
She opened her bedroom door and found a note taped to the outside.
Your doctor cleared you to return to work Monday. Not before. You have 4 days to recover fully. Use them. - LB
Isabella stared at the note, her heart twisting.
Your doctor. Had Liam called a doctor for her? Had he taken care of her while she was unconscious?
The memory surfaced—hazy, fever-blurred. Cool hands. Water. Medicine. A damp cloth on her forehead. His voice, harsh but strangely gentle: Rest. That's an order.
Had that been real?
Isabella looked down the hallway toward Liam's bedroom. His door was closed, locked as always. No sign of him.
She checked the time. 6:15 AM. He was probably already at the office.
Taking care of everything she'd failed to do.
Monday Morning
Isabella returned to work exactly on time, looking professional and healthy, with no trace of the illness that had nearly destroyed her.
She'd spent four days resting, recovering, and preparing herself mentally for whatever came next. If Liam was going to fire her, she'd accept it with dignity. If he was going to be even harsher than before, she'd endure it.
She owed him that much for taking care of her, even if he'd never admit he had.
But when she arrived at her desk, Liam's office door was closed. His calendar showed back-to-back meetings all day. And there was a stack of work waiting for her—assignments that had piled up during her absence.
No note. No acknowledgment. No mention of what had happened.
Just work.
Isabella threw herself into it, grateful for the distraction, desperate to prove she was back to her normal competence.
At 2:00 PM, Liam emerged from a meeting and stopped at her desk.
"Ms. Hart." His voice was cold, professional, exactly like before. "My office. Now."
Isabella's stomach dropped, but she followed him inside.
Liam closed the door and gestured to the chair. She sat, her hands folded carefully in her lap, her expression neutral.
"You're recovered," Liam stated, not a question.
"Yes, Mr. Black. Completely. I'm sorry for—"
"I need you to make a reservation," he interrupted, pulling out his phone and scrolling through something. "This Friday. Eight PM. La Lumière."
La Lumière. The most exclusive restaurant in the city. The one with a six-month waiting list and prices that required a second mortgage.
"Of course," Isabella said, pulling out her tablet to make notes. "How many guests?"
"Two."
Isabella's pen paused. "A business dinner?"
"No." Liam's voice was flat. "Personal."
The word hit Isabella like a physical blow, but she kept her expression perfectly composed. "Of course. Should I prepare any materials, or—"
"No materials. Just the reservation. Request the private room overlooking the river. Arrange for a car to pick up Valentina Rossi from her hotel at seven-thirty."
Isabella's heart stopped.
Valentina Rossi. The Italian supermodel who'd been on the cover of Vogue three times this year. The woman who'd been photographed with Liam at a charity gala two months ago, before their wedding.
The woman who was beautiful, sophisticated, and everything Isabella would never be.
"Valentina Rossi," Isabella repeated, her voice steady even as something inside her shattered. "I'll contact her management team."
"She's staying at The Carlisle. Suite 4500. Her assistant's number is in my contacts—send it to yourself." Liam returned to his desk, already dismissing her. "I want confirmation of everything by end of day."
"Yes, Mr. Black."
Isabella stood, her legs somehow supporting her, and walked toward the door.
"Ms. Hart."
She turned back.
Liam was looking at her now, really looking at her, with an expression she couldn't read. "Make sure everything is perfect. This is important."
The words drove the knife deeper.
"Of course," Isabella whispered. "I understand."
She closed the door behind her and made it to her desk before her hands started shaking.
A date. He wanted her to arrange a romantic date with a supermodel. Wanted her to call the most exclusive restaurant in the city and book the private room—the one couples used for proposals and anniversaries and moments that mattered.
For him and another woman.
While his wife sat fifteen feet away, planning every detail of his romantic evening with someone else.
Isabella stared at her computer screen, her vision blurring.
It's just a contract, she reminded herself. He's not really your husband. You have no claim to him. This is what you agreed to.
But knowing that and feeling it were two completely different things.
She picked up the phone and started making calls.
"La Lumière, how may I help you?"
"Yes, hello. I'm calling on behalf of Liam Black to make a reservation for this Friday at eight PM."
"Mr. Black! Of course. Let me check our availability... yes, we can accommodate him. How many in his party?"
"Two. He's requested the private dining room overlooking the river."
"The Belvedere Room. Excellent choice. Very romantic."
Isabella's grip tightened on the phone. "Yes. Very."
"And will this be for a special occasion? We offer customized menus for celebrations."
A celebration. Of course. Probably the beginning of something. The start of a real relationship with someone who wasn't trapped in a contract.
"I... I'm not sure. Perhaps you could prepare something special, just in case?"
"Absolutely. We'll create a tasting menu with wine pairings. And should we prepare anything else? Flowers? Music? We often have couples celebrating engagements or anniversaries in the Belvedere Room."
Isabella closed her eyes. Breathed through the pain.
"Just the standard romantic setting. That should be sufficient."
"Perfect. We'll make it an evening to remember."
An evening to remember. For Liam and Valentina. While Isabella sat home alone in the penthouse, imagining every moment.
She made the next call to Valentina's assistant, who was thrilled and confirmed the pickup time. Then she arranged the car service, confirmed the menu, and sent Liam a detailed email with every confirmation.
All with a professional smile plastered on her face.
At 6:00 PM, as she was preparing to leave, Liam emerged from his office.
"Everything confirmed?" he asked.
"Yes, Mr. Black. The reservation is set, Ms. Rossi's transportation is arranged, and the restaurant is preparing a special tasting menu."
"Good." He paused, studying her face. "You look tired."
"I'm fine."
"You just recovered from being sick. Don't push yourself."
The concern in his voice—however minimal—made everything worse. Isabella forced a smile. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of handling my workload."
Something flickered in Liam's eyes. "I never said you weren't capable."
"Then is there anything else you need, Mr. Black?"
The professional distance between them felt like a canyon. Like they weren't married. Like she wasn't dying inside while planning his date with someone else.
"No," Liam said finally. "That's all."
Isabella ga
thered her things and left, making it to the elevator before the tears threatened to fall.