*Isabella's POV*
"I got you an early birthday present," I said, my voice a little too bright, a little too nervous. I knew how much he wasn't a fan of crowds and smelly people, or people for a matter of fact. But I also knew this was different. "I know you'd like this."
I pulled out two tickets, the colourful, glossy paper feeling flimsy and insignificant compared to the weight of the moment.
"Are those..." he started, his voice laced with a disbelief so thick it was almost comical. He looked from the tickets to my face and back again, his guard completely down for a second. "Tickets to a Coldplay concert. Ten days before your birthday." I replied eagerly.
"I know it's your favourite band," I added, trying my best to seem confident, even though his emotionless stare was making me slightly nervous.
"How could you possibly know that?" he asked with a sigh, his usual defensiveness snapping back into place.
"When you have a lot of work to do and you can't concentrate, you always listen to them," I explained, my voice softening. "Late at night too, when you can't leave the office and you'd tell me to go home. I sometimes stayed and I'd hear you listening to them. Or humming their lyrics." I took a deep breath, going for the final, winning blow. "I know which one is your favourite album, the one you listen to the most."
His face was a mask of shock. The ice king had well and truly melted. "Isabella..." he began, his voice strained, an exasperated sigh escaping him. He looked completely overwhelmed, like I'd just handed him a piece of a puzzle he didn't even know was missing.
"I know it's not your scenery," I said, trying to ease the sudden, heavy tension in the room. "But I'll be with you, we'll have fun, you'll see."
With that, he snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest before claiming my lips in a dominating, possessive kiss. Fuck. It wasn't a kiss of thanks, not really. It was a kiss of pure, unfiltered shock and a raw, grudging acceptance that someone had finally seen past his fortress of a persona. He broke the kiss, his eyes looking a bit brighter, a bit lighter.
"I'll go, thank you," he said, his voice a low, quiet rumble. He pulled me into a tight hug, his chin resting on top of my head, and for a second, he just held me, like he was trying to anchor himself.
A few days later, I was at work, buried in the mind-numbing task of reorganising the filing closet. The air was thick with the smell of old paper and the faint, chemical scent of white-out, a smell that usually meant mindless, boring work. But today, it was thick with something else. Cole's simmering rage.
"And now she's telling me she wants to move to New York City," he vented, slamming a drawer shut with unnecessary force. "That's complete bullshit. They're making her. That bitch Conny saw us and snitched."
"I'm sorry she has to go to New York," I said, my voice soft. I was trying to be a good friend, but my mind was a million miles away, stuck on Damien.
He rolled his eyes, turning his angry gaze to my awkward self. "We broke up anyway, what that basic bitch saw was a goodbye kiss." He said it with such finality, but I could see the hurt underneath the angry facade. "I'm sorry, are you okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"Of course I am. It's just this fucking rule," he asked, turning his full attention to me, his eyes narrowing. "It's just stupid, don't you think?"
My heart gave a little lurch. "Of course I am, Cole. The rule is stupid," I said, my voice a little too quick. I could feel the walls of my own secret closing in around me.
God, I can't tell him, I thought, the words a screaming slogan in my head. I can't tell him about me and Damien or Jacob. It would cause such a mess, even though I'm dying to talk to someone. He works here too. It would be the talk of the entire fucking company. I just nodded, looking sympathetic, while inside I felt like a fraud. A fucking hypocrite, lecturing him about secrets while I was drowning in my own.
"I just need to punch something," he sighed, deflating.
"Well, don't do it here," I said, patting his arm. "Go get a coffee or something."
He nodded, and I took the opportunity to escape the cramped, tense air of the closet, leaving him to his anger and me to my own complicated, fucking mess.
The next two weeks sailed by in a weird, dreamlike haze. I balanced work and dating my boss, and for some fucking reason, it all just... worked. We fell into a rhythm. He'd still come to my room at night, a silent, possessive shadow, and we'd fall into our routine of mind-blowing sex and quiet, awkward mornings. But there was a new ease there too, a fragile truce built on shared secrets and Coldplay tickets.
All was going well until the night of the concert.
I showered, letting the hot water beat against my skin, but my mind was racing. I stood naked in front of my wardrobe, feeling fucking anxious. What was I gonna wear? This wasn't just another dinner. This was a concert. A public place. The pressure was immense.
After about fifteen minutes of going back and forth, pulling out and discarding a dozen different options, I finally settled on a simple, deadly black skirt that ended mid-thigh and a tight white crop top. The right combination of thigh and cleavage, a perfect balance of classy and slutty.
Once I was done, I forced my wild, curly hair into a high ponytail that ran down my neck and upper back, but I let a few strands escape to dangle artfully over my face, softening the look. I did a light, natural makeup look, and once I was satisfied with my reflection, I took a deep breath and carried myself downstairs to where Damien was waiting for me by the door.
His gaze flew up to me the second he heard my footsteps on the marble. And he looked... almost shocked. His eyes, dark and intense, roamed over me, from the high ponytail down to my thighs revealed by the skirt, and back up to the swell of my breasts pushed up by the tight top. His mouth was slightly agape, a flicker of awe on his face that made a triumphant, fucking thrill shoot straight through me.