"Tell me it isn't true."
Ethan's voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the hotel suite like a blade. Isabella froze by the window, the city lights casting a soft glow over her silhouette. She didn't turn around. She just stood there, staring out at the skyline as if it might offer her an escape.
"Ethan…" Her voice wavered.
He stepped closer, his chest heaving. "Don't say my name like that. Just tell me I was wrong. Tell me you were going to leave him. Tell me you weren't—" His throat closed, and he had to force the next words out. "Tell me you weren't lying to me the whole time."
Finally, she turned. Her face was pale, her eyes tired, her mouth trembling with something between guilt and defiance. For a long moment, she said nothing. And that silence told Ethan more than words ever could.
"You chose him," Ethan whispered, his voice breaking. "All along, you chose him."
Isabella's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't deny it.
The ground beneath Ethan seemed to tilt. He staggered back, one hand gripping the edge of the desk as if to keep himself standing. His lungs burned, his skin prickled cold, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick.
"Why?" His voice cracked. "Why make me believe otherwise? Why tell me you loved me if you were never going to—" He choked on the words, pressing a fist to his mouth.
"Because I do love you," Isabella said, stepping forward, her tears spilling freely now. "But love isn't always enough. Adrian… Adrian is—" She shook her head, her voice breaking. "He's my life, Ethan. He always has been. I can't walk away from him. Not for you. Not for anyone."
The words landed like stones in his chest. He stared at her, his mind unraveling. Every memory — every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, every late-night confession — suddenly curdled into something grotesque. A performance. A temporary escape for her, nothing more.
"You used me." His voice was low, deadly quiet.
"No," Isabella pleaded, stepping closer. "Don't say that. I never meant to hurt you. You were my escape. My refuge. I—"
Ethan laughed bitterly, the sound raw and hollow. "Your refuge? You make it sound like I was a vacation. Something temporary to make you feel alive before you crawled back to him."
Her face crumpled. "It wasn't like that."
"It was exactly like that!" Ethan exploded, his voice echoing off the walls. "You made me believe I mattered to you. That I was different. That I wasn't just some mistake you'd bury under your perfect little life with him. And the whole time—" He dragged a hand down his face, his breath ragged. "The whole time, you were never mine. Not really."
Isabella reached for him, but he jerked away, retreating toward the door.
"Ethan, please—"
"Don't," he spat, his eyes wild with pain. "Don't say my name again. Every time you do, it feels like you're tearing me open."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Isabella stood frozen, her hand still outstretched, while Ethan's chest heaved as though he were drowning.
Finally, he whispered, his voice breaking into pieces: "I bet he knew. From the start. I bet Adrian laughed every time you came back to him after being with me."
Isabella's lips parted, but no words came. Her silence was the answer he feared most.
Something inside Ethan shattered completely then — not with a scream, but with a quiet, exhausted collapse. He sagged against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the carpet, his hands buried in his hair. His whole body shook, but no tears came. He was beyond tears now.
Isabella sank to her knees in front of him, her face streaked with tears. "I did love you," she whispered. "That wasn't a lie."
He lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot and empty. "Then why does it feel like it was?"
Neither of them spoke after that. The city outside buzzed with life, oblivious to the ruin in that room.
At last, Ethan forced himself to his feet. He didn't look at her again. His hand lingered on the doorknob, his back to her, his voice so quiet she almost didn't hear it.
"You didn't just break my heart, Isabella. You broke me."
The door clicked shut behind him.
And this time, she didn't follow.