Rafe's phone vibrated once, Then again.
He didn't look at it immediately, but Isabella saw the shift in him, the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze sharpened like something had just snapped into place.
"Sorry," he muttered, already standing.
They were in the library study room again. Same glass walls. Same too-close table. Same tension humming beneath the silence.
"Is everything okay?" Isabella asked before she could stop herself.
Rafe glanced at the screen this time. His jaw clenched.
"No," he said simply.
He didn't explain. Didn't soften it. He grabbed his jacket, fingers moving fast.
"I have to go."
"Rafe—"
He paused, just long enough to look at her. Like he wanted to say something he had no right to say.
Then he stepped back.
"I'll make it up," he said quietly.
And he was gone. Isabella stayed.
She told herself it was because the project mattered. Because walking out would look suspicious. Because she refused to let him affect her.
But the truth sat heavier.
The chair across from her was empty, and she hated how much she noticed.
She studied until the words blurred, until the library lights dimmed and the silence pressed in.
When she finally packed up, it felt like leaving something unfinished something fragile and unresolved.
The next morning, St. Aldrich buzzed with its usual noise.
Isabella spotted Rafe immediately.
He was seated with his friends—Jax, Malik, Theo—relaxed in a way she hadn't seen in days.
Lena sat sideways on his lap, arms looped around his neck, laughing softly as he murmured something in her ear.
The sight hit harder than she expected.
Of course, she told herself. This is what it looks like, this is what it's always looked like.
She squared her shoulders and walked toward them anyway.
"Morning," she said coolly.
Rafe's eyes lifted.
For a fraction of a second, everything else faded.
Then Lena shifted, tightening her hold on him.
"Hey, Bella," Lena said brightly, though her gaze flicked between them. "Ready for another thrilling day?"
Before Isabella could answer, the classroom door opened.
"Everyone, settle down," the teacher called. "About your leadership project—your partners will be submitting a joint analysis. You'll need to spend significant time together this week."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Lena stiffened.
She turned to Rafe, smile tight. "Actually… I was thinking. Why don't we switch?"
Isabella's heart skipped.
"What?" Rafe asked.
"I mean," Lena continued lightly, "I'd rather work with you. We're already together, and it just makes sense."
Silence stretched.
Rafe glanced at Isabella.
She kept her expression neutral, Untouched.
"It's fine," Isabella said before he could speak. "I can work alone."
Lena blinked. "Oh. If you're sure."
"I am."
She turned and walked out before either of them could stop her.
The library welcomed her like an old wound.
Isabella sat at the same table, spreading her notes out with careful precision. Her hands were steady. Her breathing was calm.
She refused to feel jealous.
Minutes passed then footsteps.
Rafe stopped across from her, breathing slightly heavier than normal.
"You didn't have to leave," he said.
"Yes, I did."
He pulled out the chair and sat down.
"You were jealous," he said quietly.
She laughed once. "Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm not," he replied. "I know."
That made her look up.
"She did it on purpose," he continued. "The switch."
Isabella's voice was sharp. "She's your girlfriend and my best friend."
"And you walked out like it didn't matter," he shot back.
Silence.
His gaze hardened.
She swallowed. "You left yesterday without a word."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice."
Rafe leaned back, eyes dark. "Not in my world."
The truth in his voice scared her more than anger ever could.
The weekend arrived dressed in gold.
The gala glittered beneath chandeliers and champagne, a world Isabella knew by heart. She stepped out of the car in a floor-length black gown that clung to her waist and flowed like ink around her legs.
Her blonde hair was swept into soft waves, bare shoulders glowing under the lights. Diamonds kissed her throat. She looked every inch the Sinclair heiress.
Untouchable, until she saw him.
Rafe stood near the edge of the room with his friends, dressed in black, suit sharp, presence unmistakable. Lena was beside him, dressed in a sexy green gown her brown hair flowing down just below her waist line, hand resting possessively on his arm.
Rafe's gaze found Isabella instantly. Held her gaze.
The room fell away.
For a moment, silk and pavement existed in the same breath.
And neither of them looked away.