*Isabella's POV*
"How the hell do you know Owen Phoenix?" I asked, the question feeling stupid and naive even as it left my lips. The world was tilting on its axis, and I was desperately trying to find a single, solid thing to hold onto.
"I met him at a bar last year," he said, his voice losing its angry edge, "We hooked up that night, and it happened a few times after that. But I was always his third or fourth option. He used me," he said, his voice hardening again, "so I tried to do more for him, to make him take me seriously." He took a deep breath.
"I helped him with Jacob's sketches," he said, the words landing like a lead weight in my stomach. "I watched you for weeks. I knew your routines. When you were all in the meeting room, I took the sketches and put them in his dad's bag."
A slow, sickening smile spread across his face. "I bribed Josh to delete that footage, and also the backup one. So the CCTV only incriminates you." He said it with a fucking smirk, a look of pure, unadulterated pride in his own treachery.
"What? Cole, but how could you!" I snapped, my voice breaking. "You were my best friend..." The words were a raw, open wound. The betrayal was so complete, so total, it felt like he'd reached inside my chest and torn my heart out.
"Your best friend?" he scoffed, the sound full of bitter contempt. "You have no friends. You're an opportunist. You are the reason why everything is so fucked up for me. Owen wanted you, he always talked about you." The accusation was so insane, so warped, it left me speechless.
"Cole, I'm sorry," I said, my voice a pathetic whisper. "I didn't know..."
"Sorry isn't enough, Isabella," he snarled, his face twisting with a fresh wave of fury. "Get away from me." And with that, he shoved me. Hard.
I stumbled backwards and fell onto the road. The rough street scraped against my hands and legs. I looked up, my vision blurring , and saw two bright headlights, growing larger at an alarming speed, heading towards me. And then it all went dark.
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What's happening? Where the fuck am I? Isabella wondered as she began prying her eyes open, her eyelids feeling like they were glued shut. Blinding white lights were moving slowly above her, passing in a steady, rhythmic procession. The world was a muffled, distant hum, like she was underwater. A sharp, smell stung her nostrils.
"She's regaining consciousness," a voice said, flat and clinical.
"Prepare 100 milligrams of ketamine, she's trying to move," another voice ordered, equally devoid of emotion. A wave of pure terror washed over her. Ketamine? Why? She tried to struggle, to ask what was going on, but her limbs felt like they were filled with lead, heavy and unresponsive.
Minutes earlier
The sharp, afternoon air was thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and city grit. Emily, the receptionist, was taking a much-needed smoking break by the curb, leaning against the building's cold stone facade.
"Cole, what the fuck are you doing?" she shouted, her eyes widening in horror as she saw the shove. She dropped her cigarette, not even noticing the hiss as it hit the damp pavement. She rushed towards the scene, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"ISABELLA!!!" A roar of pure agony tore through the air. Jacob exploded through the building's doors just seconds after Emily, his eyes locking onto the figure in the road. He sprinted towards her, his long legs eating up the distance, and quickly crouched beside her unconscious, bloody body.
"And that son of a bitch ran away!" Emily said, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and fury as she watched the taillights of the car disappear around the corner. She turned back to Jacob, who was already clutching Isabella's broken body to his chest, a low, husky sound of pain escaping his lips.
"Don't move her! Don't fucking touch her, you can cause her more harm!" Emily said, her voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through his panic. "I'm going to call 911, just stop touching her!"
But Jacob wasn't listening. His head snapped up, his eyes, wild with a grief so intense it was terrifying, locked onto the frozen figure of Cole on the pavement. "What the hell were you doing? What the hell did you do, you motherfucker?" Jacob said, his voice a venomous shout as his raging fury found a target.
"I swear it was an accident!" Cole stammered, his face pale, his hands held up in a pathetic gesture of innocence. "Emily, you were out here smoking, you saw it, right? I didn't mean it!"
"Shut up, you jackass!" Emily snapped, her phone already pressed to her ear as she spoke to the 911 operator. "Because what I saw was you two arguing, and that doesn't help your fucking case one bit."
Jacob gently laid Isabella's head back down on the road, his hands stained with her blood. He rose slowly, a predator advancing on his prey. "Make sure he doesn't run until the police are here," Jacob said, his voice dangerously quiet, a promise of retribution hanging in the air.
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*Jacob's POV*
A blinding rage, so pure and absolute it made my vision swim, flooded my veins. I wanted to fucking end him. To feel his bones break under my fists, to wipe that pathetic, terrified look off his face forever.
Him and that nameless, faceless son of a bitch in the car who hit my sweetheart and just drove away. I wanted to tear them both apart with my bare hands.
But my feet were nailed to the fucking pavement. I couldn't move. I couldn't leave her.
She was growing weak in my arms, a terrifying, dead weight that made my own heart stop. Her head fell back, her face pale and smeared with blood – my sweetheart's blood.
I crashed my lips against hers, not in a kiss of passion, but a desperate, weak prayer. Breathe. Please, just breathe. Take my breath, take my heart, take my whole goddamn life, I begged silently to a universe that had clearly abandoned us. Just let her be okay.
I didn't care if she was mad at me for being a fucking jerk because I didn't defend her back in the office. I was an idiot, a complete and utter fool. I wanted her awake.
I wanted her to open those beautiful eyes and fucking yell at me, to call me every name in the book for being such a clueless asshole. I deserved it. Her anger would be a sign of life, a sign that she was still in there. It would be a mercy.