*Isabella's POV*
"Wait," he said, his voice stopping me in my tracks just as my hand touched the doorknob. For fuck's sake. I turned back, my heart doing a stupid little flip that I immediately told to shut the hell up.
"I don't want to make you stay the full two weeks," he began, his tone business-like, but I could see a flicker of something else in his eyes. "But can you please stay for a few hours today to help Liz, my assistant?"
"Oh, Liz," I sighed, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. I couldn't hide the jealously, not even a little bit. Liz. Not even Elizabeth. Just Liz. "Isabella, I swear," he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping to a more persuasive, intimate level.
"I wanted to get your approval on all this, but you were home, sick, and she seemed fit. Her resume was good, and her attitude was professional." He was explaining, justifying himself, and a part of me wanted to scream that he didn't owe me an explanation, while another, more pathetic part argued that he needed to.
"She does seem professional," I agreed, the words tasting like poison. What the fuck was wrong with me? "Okay, I can stay today," I heard myself say, the betrayal of my own voice stunning me into silence for a second. "And also for the rest of this week." Why did I add that? It was like my mouth had a fucking death wish.
"Thank you," he said, and the smile that broke across his face was so genuine, so relieved, it almost made the whole shitty situation worth it. Almost.
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One week later, the familiar rhythm of the office had become a strange, bittersweet torture for Isabella. She stood over Liz's desk, watching the woman's fingers fly across the keyboard with an unnerving, almost inhuman efficiency.
"Where did you learn that Excel shortcut?" Isabella asked, genuinely impressed despite the bitter pill she was forced to swallow with every passing moment.
"I don't know, I don't remember," Liz replied with a giggle. "I just know it."
"Well, I love it," Isabella said, forcing a smile that felt like cracking glass. She had to fucking admit it; Liz was perfect for Damien. She was efficient, smart, proactive, and had even nailed the perfect coffee, just the way he liked it.
It was like she was a goddamn robot sent from the future to make Isabella feel inadequate. Isabella wasn't ready to close this chapter of her life, but she knew she had to move on. Something great was waiting for her on the other side. She had to keep telling herself that.
"Isabella," Damien said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that cut through the office hum as he stepped out of his office.
"Yes," she responded, her heart immediately jumping into her throat.
"This is your last day, right?" he asked, his expression unreadable.
"Yes, I start with Smith & Johnson Co. on Monday," she replied, her voice a little too bright, a little too professional.
"I am very happy for you," he said, and he wished he could mean it. "Can you come to my office before you go?" he asked.
She just nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She stood up, smoothing down her skirt, and followed him.
Once inside the quiet of his office, he closed the door, the soft click sealing them in. "I'm not ready to see you walk out of this company's doors," he began, his voice strained. He turned to face her, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability she rarely saw. "I always thought…" he began, then stopped, the words catching in his throat.
"Damien," Isabella sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. She couldn't do this.
"Yes, I know you need to grow, do your thing," he said, pressing on, "but I always thought you'd lead this company beside me." The words hit her like a physical blow, catching her completely off guard.
She laughed before she could stop herself, a sharp, fake sound that echoed in the office. She hoped it didn't sound as fake as it felt. "Damien, you're exaggerating. I was only your assistant," she said, trying to ground the conversation in a reality she could handle.
"You weren't just my assistant, and you know it" he replied, his voice firm, intense. He took a step closer. "You are my partner."
My everything, Damien thought to himself, the words a silent, desperate scream in his own head.
"I'm sorry, I'm getting too fucking emotional," Damien said, turning away from her, his eyes welling up. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "I wish you good luck at your auditor firm."
"It's not my auditor firm," she said, a small, sad smile touching her lips.
A small, sad smile touched his lips. "Of course it's not," he said. And in that small, broken smile, she saw everything he couldn't say.
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*Isabella's POV*
I knew I didn't fucking need to do this. The thought echoed in my head as I stood outside the police station, its grey, concrete facade looming over me like a tomb. But I had to see Cole. I had to look him in the eye and hear from him. They'd caught the nameless fucker who drove the car, too. He was currently on trial, but because I was just injured and didn't actually die, the bastard probably wouldn't serve much time. But Cole... Cole had plenty of time to think about what he'd done. And so did I.
An officer escorted me through a series of heavy doors and into a boxy space with a sheet of thick, scratchy plexiglass dividing the room in two. And then he was there, sitting on the other side. He looked smaller, washed out in the shitty lighting, the orange jumpsuit an ugly contrast to his usual clothes.
"Isabella?" His voice crackled through the intercom, rough with disbelief.
"In the flesh," I said, my voice flat and cold as I sat down. "Don't tell me you wanted me dead." The sarcasm was a weak shield, but it was all I had.
"No..." he said quickly, his eyes wide, darting around my face as if searching for something.
"I swear it was a fucking accident," he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a desperate whimper. "It's just... you going out with Owen... it made my blood start to boil and I just..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, his movements frantic. "But I didn't mean to," he said, his voice cracking, the desperate words tumbling out.