ISABELLA'S POV
Isabella wakes up in James's penthouse with sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook all of Manhattan.
This is not her life. This is someone else's life and she's somehow living it.
James is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone. He looks like he belongs in this apartment the way other people belong in their own skin. He was born into spaces like this. For him, expensive is normal. For Isabella, expensive still feels like a dream she'll wake up from.
"Good morning," he says and kisses her forehead. Just like that. Like touching her is the easiest thing in the world.
Isabella has been with James for three months and she still can't believe he's real.
After the charity gala, he called her the next day. He asked to see her again. He took her to dinner at a restaurant where the menu didn't have prices and she was too nervous to eat. He made her laugh. He looked at her like she was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. By the third date, he kissed her and Isabella felt like her entire life had been leading to that moment.
By the first month, he told her he loved her.
By the second month, he asked her to move into his penthouse.
By the third month, she said yes to everything.
Now she's twenty-five years old and she lives in a penthouse that costs more per month than she used to make in a year. She works one job instead of three. She has time to actually design. She has time to sleep. She has James, who looks at her like she's the reason he gets out of bed in the morning.
"I want to introduce you to my parents tonight," James says and Isabella's stomach does a flip.
Meeting his parents feels like a test she's going to fail.
She knows who his parents are. His father built a company that employs thousands of people. His mother is in magazines. They're the kind of people who summer in the Hamptons and winter in Paris. They're nothing like her parents. They're nothing like anything Isabella has ever known.
"Okay," she says because saying no isn't an option when James wants something.
That night, Isabella stands in front of his full-length mirror in an apartment that's not hers, wearing a dress that cost more than her first apartment's rent, and tries not to throw up from nervousness.
James comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.
"You're beautiful," he says into her hair.
"I'm terrified," Isabella says.
"My parents are going to love you," he says but something in his voice sounds unsure.
The restaurant is the kind of place where the waiters know everyone's name before they sit down. James's father is already there, sitting at the head of the table like he owns it. His mother is beside him, perfectly put together, looking at Isabella like she's trying to figure out if she's real.
"Isabella," James's father says and extends his hand. His grip is firm but his eyes are cold. "James has mentioned you."
The word 'mentioned' lands wrong. Like Isabella is something James mentioned in passing. Like she's not important. Like she's a phase he's going through.
His mother smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. She asks Isabella questions about her background. Where she's from. What her parents do. What schools she attended. Each answer seems to make the smile fade a little bit more.
"A seamstress," his mother says when Isabella mentions her mother. "How interesting."
The way she says interesting makes it sound like something sad. Something not quite right.
Halfway through dinner, James's father takes a call and steps away. When he comes back, he leans over and whispers something to James. Isabella watches her boyfriend's face change. Watches him nod like he understands. Watches him agree to something without even looking at her.
The rest of the dinner feels cold.
On the way home, Isabella asks what his father said but James changes the subject. He talks about work. About a deal he's closing. About anything except what just happened at that table.
But Isabella saw his face change. She felt the shift. Something in the air between them got colder.
Over the next two years, Isabella learns to ignore that feeling.
She learns to ignore the way James's friends are polite but distant. They invite her to things but they don't talk to her like she's one of them. She learns to ignore the way his ex-girlfriend Sophia keeps appearing at events, always watching, always smiling like she knows something Isabella doesn't.
She learns to ignore the way James gets quiet when his father calls. The way he takes the call in his office and comes back to her different. Harder somehow. Like something his father said broke a little piece of him.
She learns to ignore the phone calls he takes in other rooms. The conversations he ends quickly when she walks in. The text messages he deletes before she can see them.
She learns to ignore all of it because ignoring feels easier than facing the truth that maybe she doesn't belong in his world. Maybe she's the problem. Maybe she's not good enough for James Mitchell and everyone around him can see it.
Instead, she loves him harder.
She learns what he likes for breakfast. She starts designing dresses and he tells her they're brilliant. She goes to his office events and stands beside him looking pretty and quiet. She becomes the perfect girlfriend because perfect might be enough to keep him.
She stops talking about her dreams. She stops spending time with Grace. She stops being the girl who worked three jobs and built herself from nothing. She becomes the girl who exists in James's world and doesn't ask questions.
And James loves her. He really does. She can feel it when he holds her. She can see it in his eyes when he looks at her at night. But there's something else there too. Something that looks like doubt. Something that looks like he's trying to decide if what he feels is enough to fight for her.
One night, two years after the charity gala, Isabella is asleep when her phone rings.
It's three in the morning. Her mother. Isabella's heart jumps because nothing good happens when your mother calls at three in the morning.
"Sweetheart," her mother says and her voice sounds small. "Your father had a heart attack."
Isabella sits up. The world tilts.
"Is he okay?" she asks but she already knows the answer from the way her mother is breathing.
"He's in the hospital. They don't know if he's going to make it. Come home."
Isabella looks beside her. James is awake now, watching her.
"I'll be on the first flight," Isabella says.
She hangs up and turns to James. "I have to go home. My father is sick. Really sick. I need to leave right now."
James pulls her close and holds her and tells her it's going to be okay. He tells her he'll come with her. He tells her whatever she needs.
But then his phone buzzes.
He looks at it and his entire body goes rigid.
"What is it?" Isabella asks.
"My father," he says quietly. "He's calling an emergency meeting. Tomorrow morning. It's about us."
Isabella's blood goes cold.
"What do you mean about us?" she asks.
James doesn't answer. He just holds her tighter and she can feel him shaking.
"There's something I need to tell you," he says. "Something my father said he would do if I didn't end this. Something that would destroy you."
"What are you talking about?" Isabella whispers but she already knows.
She already knows that in James's world, love isn't always enough. In his world, family comes first. In his world, girls like her don't get to stay.
"Not tonight," James says. "Tell me about your father. Let me help you pack. We'll figure this out in the morning."
But they both know they won't figure it out. They both know that morning is coming and everything is about to change.
And Isabella realizes too late that she's been so busy ignoring the signs that she didn't see the ending coming.