August 5th, 2025
Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Tokyo - 1:01 AM
Ian sat on the velvet couch, his body sinking slightly into the expensive cushions. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air - Isabelle's signature, familiar and yet so distant from his current world. Across from him, Isabelle lounged comfortably in a silk robe, her legs crossed, her expression both inviting and curious. For a moment, neither spoke, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.
Then she asked softly, "So… how are you really, Ian?"
He sighed. There was no point sugarcoating it.
"I graduated. Barely. Landed a job at some fast food joint flipping burgers and pretending I wasn't dying inside. Don't even know if I'm still employed there. Haven't shown up in days."
"Why not?" Isabelle asked, leaning forward.
Ian shrugged, a tired smile flickering across his face. "Been busy surviving. Rent was a bitch. And then my landlord forcefully evicted me and I'm out on the streets. A day later he was murdered."
Isabelle gasped. "Oh my god, Ian…"
"Yeah. Been bouncing around ever since. Sleeping where I can, eating when I can. Lately, that hasn't been very often."
Isabelle's eyes welled with concern. "You haven't been eating?"
"Not much to eat when you're broke."
"But why? I don't understand - "
"It's a long list of shit," Ian said. He looked her in the eyes. "A lot of things happened since the last time we saw each other. Real bad things. I didn't even have time to think straight. Just react, fight, survive. The world didn't slow down for me."
Isabelle nodded, absorbing every word. "Why did you fight those guys? I heard about it from that detective. You beat them up bad."
Ian leaned back and rolled his eyes. "They tried to take my last bit of cash. I had just enough money to get a plane ticket to South Carolina. My last shot at getting away from all this. Starting over."
"You still have it?" she asked.
He tapped his chest pocket. "Right here."
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "And you were going to use it to run?"
"Yeah. I was literally on my way to buy the ticket when those assholes showed up."
Suddenly, from behind a closed door down the hall, they heard something: the sound of fists pounding, dull thuds reverberating through the walls. Grunts followed - angry, sharp, violent.
WHAM. WHACK. BAM.
"DIE!"
"TAKE THIS, BITCH!"
"I'M THE QUEEN OF THE MMA!"
Ian flinched slightly. "What the hell is that?"
Isabelle chuckled behind her wine glass. "That would be Madison."
"Your fiancée?"
She nodded, grinning. "Mmhmm."
"I'm not surprised," Ian said, trying to mask his discomfort. "But what the hell is she doing in there? Sounds like a war zone."
Isabelle gave a soft laugh. "When she's angry, she trains. Hard. We keep a punching bag in one of the guest rooms. It helps her cope."
Ian half-smiled. "Therapy via uppercuts. Got it."
"She's a professional MMA fighter. Also has a little… rage problem. Always enraged in life...and in bed." Isabelle added casually.
Ian held up a hand. "Stop. I don't wanna know more. My brain can only take so much trauma in one night."
Isabelle giggled, her smile softening. "Sorry."
They laughed together. It was surreal. For a moment, it felt like the old days. The tension between them, the sparks, the sarcasm. It all came flooding back like a dream that never really ended.
"So.....why is your fiancée angry with you?" Ian asked, curious.
Isabelle chuckled. "Because of you, darling."
"Wait, what?"
Then, the mood shifted. The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Ian turned his head.
There she was.
Madison Hart. Isabelle's fiancée. Tall, broad-shouldered, built like an Amazonian warrior. Her tank top was halfway falling off, her shorts clung to her hips, and her hair was wet with sweat. She was, in every sense of the word, stunning. Powerful. But the look she gave Ian was anything but welcoming.
Isabelle stood up. "Maddy, look. It's Ian."
Madison gave Ian a cold stare. "Where did I put my whey protein again?" she asked Isabelle, ignoring him entirely.
"Love, I said it's Ian," Isabelle repeated, her voice now tinged with mild frustration.
"I heard you." Madison turned around. "Call me when he's gone."
She walked back into the room, not sparing Ian a second glance.
Isabelle sighed, looking embarrassed. "Sorry about her. She's… a handful."
Ian smirked. "I can see that. But hey, at least she didn't throw a wine glass at me like your old friend did."
Isabelle laughed. "Oh god, don't remind me of Francesca."
Ian chuckled. "I still have the scar."
They both laughed, easing the tension once again. Ian leaned forward and gave her a playful look.
"So," he said. "Any other crazy in your life, or is this it?"
"You'd be surprised. But none quite like you," she teased.
Ian smiled, but there was a shadow in his eyes. He knew this was temporary. A single night of nostalgia before reality returned. But for now, he let himself laugh. Let himself be human.
Because tomorrow, everything would be different again.