"Open the door, Ethan. Please."
Her voice was muffled through the wood, but the concern in it pierced him. Ethan sat on the couch, motionless, staring at the half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want anyone to see him like this.
"Go home, Maya," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. "No. I'm not leaving you like this. You haven't answered my calls in three days. I'm not stupid — I know what's happening out there. Let me in."
Ethan closed his eyes. His apartment smelled of stale alcohol and unwashed clothes, the curtains drawn tight against the daylight. The silence pressed in around him, heavy and suffocating. He wanted her to go away. He wanted her to stay.
Finally, he dragged himself up, each step heavy, and pulled the door open.
Maya stood there, hair pulled into a messy bun, her face tired but fierce. She brushed past him without waiting for an invitation, her arms full of grocery bags. "You look like hell," she said flatly, setting the bags on the counter. "And this place smells worse."
Ethan leaned against the doorframe, watching her move through the wreckage of his apartment — empty bottles, stacks of untouched mail, papers scattered across the table. Shame prickled at the back of his neck, but he masked it with irritation.
"I didn't ask you to come," he said.
Maya shot him a sharp look. "Yeah, and you also didn't ask Adrian to ruin your life, but here we are. You don't always get to choose, Ethan."
She began unpacking the groceries: bread, fruit, instant meals, a carton of milk. Her movements were brisk, determined, as if she could restore order to his world by filling his fridge.
Ethan sank back onto the couch. "You don't understand."
Maya turned, crossing her arms. "Then make me understand. Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man who's letting one betrayal end his entire life."
"One betrayal?" Ethan barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. "This isn't just betrayal, Maya. It's theft. It's annihilation. He took everything — my work, my voice, my future. And the worst part? No one believes me."
Maya's expression softened for a moment, but she held her ground. "I believe you."
The words hung in the air, startling him. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she arrived. Her eyes were steady, unflinching. She meant it.
But instead of relief, something like anger welled up in him. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter if you do. You're not the one I—" He stopped himself, biting back the name.
Maya's jaw tightened. "You mean Isabella."
Ethan turned away, shame crawling up his throat.
"You're still clinging to her," Maya said, her voice breaking now. "After everything. After she handed him your manuscript. After she stood by while he humiliated you. You still want her."
"Don't," Ethan said sharply, his voice cracking. He pressed his palms to his eyes, as if to block out the truth. "You don't understand what it's like. She saw me, Maya. She saw the real me, the part no one else even bothers to notice. And when she said she loved me—" He stopped, his breath shuddering. "I believed her. I still believe her."
Maya stood in silence for a moment, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Then she whispered, "And what about me, Ethan? Did you ever notice me?"
The question shattered something inside him. He looked at her, guilt flooding his chest, but he had no answer. She had been there — every late-night call, every pep talk, every quiet presence when his world fell apart. And yet, his heart was somewhere else, chained to a woman who had betrayed him.
Maya's eyes glistened, but she blinked the tears back quickly. She wasn't here to beg. She was here to save him, whether he wanted saving or not.
"Eat something," she said, her voice firm again. "Shower. Sleep. Do something besides drown in whiskey and self-pity."
Ethan laughed bitterly. "You sound like my mother."
"I sound like someone who cares," Maya shot back.
The words landed heavier than she intended. Ethan flinched, and for a moment, the silence between them was almost unbearable.
He wanted to tell her he appreciated her. He wanted to tell her that her belief in him mattered. But instead, he reached for the bottle on the table, pouring another drink.
Maya's face hardened. "Fine. Destroy yourself. If that's what you want, I can't stop you. But don't you dare pretend you're alone in this when you've been pushing away the only person left who actually gives a damn."
She grabbed her bag, her movements sharp with anger, and headed for the door. Ethan's chest tightened, panic flashing through him, but pride kept him rooted to the couch.
Just before she left, Maya turned, her eyes shimmering with hurt. "One day, you're going to realize she wasn't your salvation. She was your cage. And by then, it'll be too late."
The door slammed.
Ethan sat in the silence, the echo of her words rattling around his head. He stared at the glass in his hand, at his shaking reflection in the amber liquid.
Still, even then, with everything crumbling, it wasn't Maya's face he saw in his mind. It was Isabella's. Always Isabella's.