Isabella made her decision on a Wednesday morning.
She woke alone—as always—to an empty bed and cold sheets. Liam had left before dawn—as always—retreating to his room to pretend the night had never happened. She could already imagine how the day would go: cold professionalism at the office, eyes that never quite met, the man who'd held her so desperately acting like she was just another employee.
And tonight, he'd knock on her door. Three soft taps. She'd let him in. They'd fall into each other with desperate passion. He'd hold her while she slept, whispering things in the dark he'd never say in daylight.
And tomorrow morning, the cycle would repeat.
Isabella stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar ache in her chest—the one that never quite went away anymore. The one that grew a little bigger every time he left, every time he denied what was between them, every time he reduced their intimacy to something meaningless in the harsh light of day.
