The noodles were simple.
Too simple for someone like Nathan Rivers
Bella sat across from him, her hands wrapped tightly around the edge of the table as she watched him eat. Steam curled faintly from the bowl, carrying the mild scent of garlic and seasoning. Nathan ate in silence, his expression unreadable, his posture straight as if he were in a boardroom instead of her small dining area.
The silence pressed down on her chest until it became unbearable.
"You don't have to finish it," Bella said softly.
Nathan didn't look up. "I'm not wasting food."
That was all.
She nodded, swallowing. Her eyes burned again, but she refused to cry—not now, not in front of him.
After a few more bites, Nathan finally spoke. "You still haven't told me why you were crying."
Bella's fingers tightened. She had hoped foolishly that he would let it go.
"I told you earlier," she said quietly.
"You deflected," he corrected. "That's not the same thing."
She took a slow breath. "It was because of you."
His chopsticks paused midair.
For a second, the room felt very still.
"Explain," Nathan said, his voice cool.
Bella looked down at the table. "I ran into you at the restaurant today. With Aaron."
His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly.
"You seemed… angry," she continued. "I tried to talk to you, but you didn't give me the chance."
Nathan set the chopsticks down deliberately. "You were with another man."
"Yes," Bella said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "Because I was required to."
"That didn't look like obligation," he replied. "You were smiling."
She laughed weakly. "Do you know how many times I've smiled just to survive a situation?"
Silence.
"That man," Nathan said, "looked very comfortable with you."
"He's my childhood arranged marriage partner," Bella blurted out. "Not my choice. Never was."
Nathan's eyes snapped up to hers.
"Arranged," he repeated.
"Yes." She nodded quickly. "Our families decided it years ago. I don't have the freedom to just refuse."
"You didn't think that was relevant information?" he asked coldly.
"I didn't think you cared," she said honestly.
That earned her a sharp look.
"You were wrong," Nathan said.
Bella's chest tightened. "You didn't let me explain. You looked at me like I'd betrayed you and then you left."
Nathan leaned back slightly. "I don't owe you patience, Bella."
"I know," she whispered. "That's why it hurt."
His expression hardened. "You're saying you cried because I walked away."
"Yes."
The word fell between them, fragile and exposed.
"I thought," she continued, voice shaking now, "that after everything—after that night, after you stood up for me against Claire—you at least saw me as someone worth listening to."
Nathan didn't respond immediately.
He picked up his chopsticks again, took another bite of noodles, chewed slowly.
"You're not mine," he said finally. "I have no right to question who you sit with."
"That's not what it felt like," Bella replied.
"What did it feel like?" he asked.
"Like you cared," she said softly. "And like you were angry because of it."
Nathan exhaled through his nose. "Care is a liability."
"Then why are you here?" Bella asked, meeting his eyes.
Another pause.
"Because," he said, "when I called you were crying , I assumed something was wrong."
"You sounded concerned"
Nathan frowned. "You noticed."
"I was crying," she said. "I noticed everything."
The silence returned, heavier now, filled with things neither of them wanted to say out loud.
"You should have told me about the arrangement," Nathan said.
"You should have asked," Bella replied.
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—regret, perhaps—but it vanished quickly.
"You don't owe me explanations," he said. "And I don't make room for misunderstandings."
Bella smiled sadly. "Life doesn't really care what we make room for."
He studied her then, really looked at her—the red-rimmed eyes, the slumped shoulders, the quiet strength holding her together.
"You shouldn't cry over someone like me," he said.
"Too late," she replied.
The honesty startled them both.
Nathan stood, carrying the empty bowl to the sink. "The noodles were good."
Bella blinked. "Oh. Thank you."
He turned back to her. "Don't meet Aaron alone again."
"That's not your decision," she said gently.
"No," he agreed. "But it is my warning."
She nodded. "I understand."
At the door, Nathan paused.
"I don't like being made a fool of," he said without turning. "And today—I was."
Bella's voice was barely audible. "I never meant to make you feel that way."
He looked back at her, eyes dark, conflicted.
"Intent doesn't always matter," he said.
Then he left.
Bella sank into the chair, her heart aching in ways she didn't fully understand.
She had wanted him to stay. Wanted him to believe her. Wanted him to care—just enough.
And somewhere deep down, Nathan Rivers knew one dangerous truth:
He wouldn't have been angry at all—
If she hadn't already mattered.
She did. She just doesn't know it yet and Nathan isn't about to admit it himself either