*Isabella's POV*
"I swear it was a fucking accident," he repeated, his voice cracking, the desperate words tumbling out. But I wasn't buying it. The cheap excuse for his rage, for his betrayal, just wasn't sticking.
"Why the fuck are you fucking lying though, Cole?" I asked, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I leaned closer to the plexiglass, my eyes staring into his.
"We were friends for years. Were you faking it all this time?" The question hung in the air.
"Yes... no... I don't know," he stammered, his gaze darting away from mine, unable to hold the eye contact. "You started to piss me off when you started dating Jacob. I knew then you'd do anything to climb the corporate ladder."
"Climb the... what the fuck are you talking about?" I asked, my confusion quickly turning into a hot, sharp anger. The accusation was so insane, so out of left field, it was almost laughable.
"And then I heard all your fucking moans from Damien's office," he spat out, his face twisting with a bitter, ugly resentment. "You just had to take the fucking CEO too." The words were meant to wound, to shame me, but they just sounded pathetic, like the jealous ramble of a bitter, small-minded man.
And then it clicked. It all fucking clicked into place. The lies, the theft, the shove. It wasn't about Owen. It wasn't even about me, not really. It was about him. His own failed ambitions, his own pathetic desire to sleep his way to the top, projected onto me. He was angry at me because he thought I had succeeded where he had failed.
"So? Anything else?" I said, my voice suddenly cold, calm. A slow, deliberate smirk touched my lips. "Oh yes, I kissed your lover too." The lie was a weapon, a final, sharp twist of the knife. I saw the flicker of pain in his eyes, and it gave me a sick, fleeting satisfaction.
I had so much more to say, a thousand angry, hurtful things, but I realised it was all in vain, he was clearly jealous not only about Owen, but about me doing better professionally than him. He wanted the opportunity to sleep his way to the top and he was mad at me, thinking I had done it. He was a black hole of jealousy, and nothing I said would ever make a difference.
Screw him, I thought, the finality of it settling over me. I stood up without another word, turning my back on him and his pathetic misery. I didn't look back as the officer led me away, leaving Cole to his own toxic, self-made hell.
*Three Days Earlier*
The low, steady hum of the plane's engines was a monotonous drone, a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts rattling around in my skull. I stared out the window at the endless expanse of clouds, a sea of white that felt a million miles away from the mess I'd left behind on the ground.
"Thank you again for coming with me," I said, turning to Elly, who was scrolling through her phone with a bored expression, already looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
"I can't wait to see your hometown," she said, not looking up from her screen. "Although we could do better with flying, you know. You have two fucking billionaires in love with you, and we flying coach." She finally glanced at me, a wicked glint in her eye.
"I'm not using them for my personal reasons, Elly," I said, a little too defensively.
"You're not? What the fuck is wrong with you?" she said, glaring at me with such dramatic outrage that I couldn't help but laugh.
I decided I should make amends with my past. Damien was right. I should visit my mom's grave. It was a thought that had been simmering for a while, a necessity I kept putting off. But after everything that had happened, after almost losing my own fucking life, it felt like the least I could do. For her. For me.
The Indiana air was crisp and damp. We stood in a small, old cemetery, where overgrown headstones slanted and moss-covered grass seemed to swallow the fading green. I stood before a plain grey tombstone, my mother's name engraved into it, its letters blurred by time and neglect.
"Do you need some privacy?" Elly asked from a few feet away. She was hovering, trying to give me space while still being present, a perfect, awkward moment in our friendship.
"No, it's alright," I said, my voice sounding small in the quiet. "Elly?" I began, my nerves suddenly getting the better of me.
"Yes?" she pushed gently.
"Do you know I never said 'I love you' to anyone?" The words came out as a soft, shameful whisper.
"Uhm... what?" she asked, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"Yeah," I said, feeling a hot blush of embarrassment creep up my neck. "Not even to your mom?" she asked, her voice dropping.
"No." I shook my head, staring at the cold stone. "Not even to your first boyfriend, your boyfriend in high school or something. People are usually lovey-dovey in their teens."
"My first boyfriend... was a good guy," I said, the admission feeling like a betrayal of a ghost. "And what happened?" she pressed softly.
"He was... my first serious boyfriend... but I was already changed, I lacked enthusiasm" I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "My dad left my mom when I was ten. My mom was.... well, she did her best, I think... but she was always so fucking cold." I took a shaky breath, the past hurt as sharp as ever.
"Not that she didn't love me... she did. But she wasn't that affectionate. I always thought it was fucking cringe to say 'I love you' because she showed me love, yes, but she never said it with words. So, I've always thought that saying it well ... it's for losers."