Isla's POV
I barely slept last night.
The jewelry receipt kept haunting me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those numbers: $15,000 for a diamond bracelet. For someone who isn't me.
But this morning, I decided I'm not going to assume the worst. Maybe it's for his mother. Maybe it's a business gift. Maybe there's a perfectly good explanation.
So I made his favorite lunch—turkey and avocado sandwiches from scratch, exactly how he likes them. I even added the spicy mustard he loves. I packed everything in a nice bag with napkins and his favorite chips.
This is my peace offering. My way of showing him I care. My way of fixing whatever's been feeling wrong between us lately.
The subway ride to his office in downtown Manhattan makes my stomach twist with nerves. Good nerves, I tell myself. Excited nerves. We haven't had a spontaneous moment together in months. Maybe this is exactly what we need.
I'm going to walk into his office, surprise him with lunch, and we're going to laugh together like we used to. He'll tell me about the bracelet, and I'll feel stupid for doubting him. Everything will make sense again.
It has to.
Blackwell Capital's building is one of those tall glass towers that make you feel small just looking at it. I've only been here a handful of times in three years. Ethan doesn't like mixing his personal and professional life. Another thing I never questioned because I was too busy being the easy girlfriend who never complains.
The lobby is all marble and cold air conditioning. I walk to the elevators, gripping the lunch bag so tight my knuckles turn white.
Thirty-second floor. That's where Ethan's office is.
The elevator feels like it's moving in slow motion. I watch the numbers climb: 15... 20... 25... My heart beats faster with each floor.
When the doors finally open, I step into a hallway with thick carpet that makes my footsteps silent. The receptionist desk is empty—must be lunch break. Good. Fewer people to witness my surprise.
I walk past empty conference rooms and closed office doors. Ethan's office is at the end of the hall, the biggest one with his name on a gold plaque: ETHAN BLACKWELL, CEO.
My hands are shaking again, but this time it's from excitement. I'm actually doing something spontaneous for once. Something that isn't planned or approved. Something that might make him smile at me the way he used to when we first met.
I'm about five feet from his door when I hear it.
A woman's laugh. Light and musical, coming from inside his office.
I freeze mid-step.
Ethan has female employees. That's normal. It's probably just his assistant Jennifer, or someone from accounting. Nothing weird about that.
But something about that laugh makes my skin prickle.
I move closer, quieter now. The door is slightly open—just a crack. Not enough to see inside clearly, but enough to hear everything.
"You look exhausted, Ethan." The woman's voice is smooth like honey. Familiar somehow.
"I haven't been sleeping well." That's Ethan's voice, but softer than I've ever heard it. Vulnerable.
"Is it the wedding?"
My breath catches in my throat.
"It's... complicated," Ethan says, and I can hear him moving around. "I thought I had everything figured out, but then you came back, and—"
"And what?" the woman asks. I hear footsteps. She's moving closer to him.
I should leave. I should turn around right now and walk away. But my feet won't move. It's like I'm frozen, forced to listen to my life falling apart.
"And everything I thought I wanted doesn't make sense anymore," Ethan says quietly.
Through the crack in the door, I can finally see inside.
There's a woman standing close to Ethan. Too close. She has dark, shiny hair that falls perfectly down her back. Her clothes look expensive—the kind of elegant that I could never pull off. She's touching his arm, and he's not pulling away.
My heart stops when I see her face in profile.
I know that face. I've seen it in photos hidden in Ethan's study. I've seen it in old pictures from before I met him. I've had nightmares about this face for three years.
Vivienne Hart.
His first love. The woman who destroyed him. The woman he cried over the night we met.
She's here. In his office. Touching him.
And the way Ethan is looking at her...
I've never seen that expression on his face before. His eyes are soft, almost desperate. His whole body leans toward her like she's gravity and he can't help but fall.
He never looks at me like that.
Not once in three years has he looked at me with that kind of raw emotion.
"I've missed you so much," Vivienne whispers, and her hand moves from his arm to his chest, right over his heart. "Every day I was gone, I thought about you."
"Vivienne..." Ethan's voice cracks. "You left me. You married someone else."
"I know." She looks up at him with tears in her eyes—real tears that make her look even more beautiful. "It was the biggest mistake of my life. I've regretted it every single day."
"I tried to move on," Ethan says, and my heart shatters because I know exactly what—who—he's talking about. Me. I'm the "moving on." The rebound. The replacement.
"I know you did," Vivienne says softly. "But we both know she's not... she's not me, Ethan. She could never be me."
The lunch bag slips from my numb fingers.
It hits the floor with a soft thud that sounds like thunder in my ears. The chips bag inside crinkles loudly.
I wait for them to notice. To turn around and see me standing here, watching my entire relationship reveal itself as a lie.
But they don't hear it. They're too focused on each other.
Ethan reaches up and touches Vivienne's face with such tenderness that I want to scream. "I tried so hard to stop loving you," he whispers.
"Did you succeed?" Vivienne asks.
There's a long, horrible pause.
"No," Ethan finally admits. "I never stopped."
The words hit me like bullets.
I back away from the door, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. Not here. Not where they might hear me.
I stumble backward down the hallway, my hand covering my mouth to keep any sound from escaping. The lunch I made with so much hope lies forgotten on the floor outside his office—just like me.
I make it to the elevator and slam my hand against the button. My whole body is shaking now. The doors open and I practically fall inside.
As the elevator starts to descend, I stare at my reflection in the metal doors. My face is pale. My eyes are wide and empty.
And suddenly, I understand everything.
The bracelet receipt. The late nights. The distance between us. The way he never really sees me.
It was all for her. It's always been for her.
I was never his future. I was just something to pass the time until she came back.
The elevator reaches the lobby and the doors open. I walk out into the sunlight, but everything feels dark.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. With shaking hands, I pull it out.
It's a text from Ethan: "Heading into meetings all afternoon. See you at home for dinner? We need to talk about some wedding details."
Wedding details.
He's up there with the woman he never stopped loving, and he's texting me about wedding details.
I stare at the message, and something inside me finally breaks.
Then I see it—another text coming through. But not to me.
It's a forwarded message from Jennifer, his assistant. She must have sent it to me by accident: "Mr. Blackwell, I've confirmed your dinner reservation for two at Le Bernardin tonight at 8 PM. Should I send the car for both you and Ms. Hart?"
My hands start shaking so hard I almost drop the phone.
Dinner reservation. Tonight. With Vivienne.
While he told me he'd be home for dinner with me.
Another lie.
I look back up at the towering building where Ethan is probably still standing close to Vivienne, looking at her the way I always dreamed he'd look at me.
And I make a decision.
I'm not going to that apartment tonight. I'm not going to smile and pretend everything is fine while he lies to my face.
I pull up my texts and start typing to Marcus: "You were right. I need help. Can you meet me?"
His response comes immediately: "Always. Where are you?"
But before I can answer, my phone buzzes with one more notification.
An email. From the jewelry store.
The subject line makes my blood run cold: "Thank you for your purchase, Mr. Blackwell. Ms. Vivienne Hart will love her custom diamond bracelet."
The bracelet was for her.
Everything was always for her.