The morning Daniel returned, I felt the change before I saw him. Marco's penthouse, usually wrapped in that quiet hum of his presence, felt different—colder somehow, like the warmth we'd built had already begun to fade.
I stood by the window, watching the city below, my bag already packed at my feet. The glass reflected my face, pale and unreadable. I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me—someone who had allowed herself to forget why she'd come here in the first place.
Marco appeared behind me, his shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from the shower. "You're leaving," he said, not asking.
I turned, forcing a small, neutral smile. "Daniel's back. I have to return to the office."
His jaw tightened. "You don't have to rush."
"I do." I lifted my bag. "I've been gone long enough."
He studied me for a long, silent moment, and something unreadable passed through his eyes—worry, maybe. Or something heavier. "At least let me drive you."
"No, Marco." I shook my head. "It's better this way."
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek. "Better for whom?"
I didn't answer. Because the truth was something neither of us was ready to say out loud.
I left before he could stop me.
Daniel's office still smelled faintly of cedar and old coffee. He was already there when I arrived—standing by the window, his usual air of command settling over the space like he'd never left.
"Isabella," he said, turning. "You've managed well in my absence."
"Welcome back," I replied, keeping my tone professional.
He smiled, that calm, knowing smile that always made me uneasy. "You look different."
"I've just been busy."
He raised an eyebrow. "Busy or distracted?"
I ignored that, setting the folder I'd brought onto his desk. "These are the pending reports and financial statements. I thought we could review them before the board meeting."
He watched me for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded. "Of course."
We spent the next hour going through figures, schedules, and correspondence. I forced myself to focus on the work, on the rhythm of Daniel's voice, on anything but the thought of my phone vibrating in my bag. I knew who it was. I didn't need to look.
By midday, I'd stopped replying entirely.
At first, Marco's messages had been gentle—Miss your voice. Then, they grew shorter. Call me. By evening, they were cold. Isabella, this isn't a game.
But I couldn't answer. I couldn't risk the questions, the emotion, or the way his voice might make me falter.
The next morning, the office was a whirlwind of movement—Daniel's return had everyone tense, eager to prove themselves. I'd just finished reviewing a shipment report when the heel of my shoe caught the corner of a loose cable.
Everything happened at once.
My foot slipped, balance gone, papers scattering in the air like snow. Daniel was on his feet instantly. "Isabella!"
Before I could hit the ground, he caught me—arms wrapping around me, pulling me against his chest. The world stilled for a moment, and all I could hear was the sound of my own breath, too fast, too shallow.
"I'm fine," I muttered, though my pulse said otherwise.
Daniel's hand brushed my hair back from my face, his voice low. "You need to slow down. You've been working nonstop since I got here."
I tried to step away, but he still held me—steady, secure. It wasn't romantic. It was instinct. But to anyone walking in, it wouldn't look that way.
And that was exactly when the door opened.
The sound of it froze us both.
Marco stood there, framed in the doorway, a storm barely contained behind his eyes. His gaze flicked from Daniel's hand on my waist to my face, then back again.
For a heartbeat, none of us spoke. The silence was sharp enough to cut.
Then he laughed—a low, disbelieving sound. "Well," he said, his tone smooth and deadly, "I see you've settled back nicely."
"Marco—" I started, but he raised a hand.
"Don't." His voice was calm, too calm. "I didn't come here to interrupt."
Daniel stepped between us slightly, his tone firm. "Mr. De Luca, perhaps this isn't the time—"
Marco's eyes turned to him, cold and precise. "It's exactly the time. After all, I'm just checking in on how my company is being managed. And clearly, it's in… good hands."
His gaze found mine again, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw something raw break through the composure. Not anger. Not jealousy. Something worse.
Disappointment.
"Marco, it's not what you think—" I tried again.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What do I think? I think I trusted someone who couldn't even answer a phone call."
The words hit harder than I expected. I stepped toward him, but he took a step back.
"Don't bother," he said quietly. "I get it now."
Daniel started to say something, but Marco cut him off with a look. "Congratulations, Daniel. Seems loyalty still runs deep in your department."
Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
I stood there, the air in the room feeling too heavy to breathe.
Daniel exhaled slowly. "Well… that could've gone better."
I shot him a glare. "Couldn't you have moved faster?"
He looked genuinely offended. "I just caught you before you cracked your skull open. Forgive me for being slow on the exit."
I sank into the nearest chair, pressing a hand to my forehead. "He's not going to listen. He thinks—"
"He thinks about what he saw," Daniel said quietly. "And maybe that's for the best."
I looked up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He hesitated, then shrugged. "Distance might be good for you, Isabella. You've been too close for too long."
But all I could think about was the look on Marco's face—the disbelief, the restrained hurt.
That was the thing about lies. You could control them, shape them, and even believe them. Until the moment they stopped belonging to you.
And in that moment, watching the door he'd just walked through, I realized something terrifying: I'd spent so long pretending I was in control—But the truth was, Marco De Luca was the only one who could still break me.