Two days. That was all it had been since Andrew asked her to leave.
And Bella still hadn't learned how to move without him.
She sat at her office desk at work, tablet angled neatly, stylus gliding across the screen as she started to design. But her body wasn't here.
Her body remembered him.
She adjusted the curve of the frame, eyes narrowing slightly, but the image blurred as something warmer, heavier pressed into her thoughts.
Andrew's hands.
The way his touch never rushed her.
The way his palm always settled at her lower back, grounding her, possessive without pressure.
The way he touched her was like he had time, as nothing else demanded him in those moments.
Bella swallowed.
She missed that.
Missed the weight of him behind her in the kitchen early in the morning. Missed waking up to the sound of him moving quietly, trying not to disturb her, failing every time. And today, here she was. Andrew didn't text her outright.
That was the first thing Bella noticed.
No, are you okay?
No, can we talk?
Just a single, casual message sent late in the afternoon.
Andrew:
Are you good?
Two words.
Neutral. Detached. Careful.
Bella stared at her phone for a long moment, her thumb hovering above the screen.
She knew what it was.
A test.
He wanted to see how quickly she'd respond. Wanted to know if she'd soften first. If she'd come back apologetic, pliable, ready to soothe his bruised pride.
She locked the phone and set it face down on her desk.
No.
At her workplace, the studio buzzed softly around her, keyboards clicking, low conversations drifting across the open floor. Bella sat at her drafting office table, reviewing measurements on a digital render, but her mind was elsewhere.
Andrew had crossed a line.
And this time, she wasn't going to pretend he hadn't.
Right from the beginning, they'd agreed on what this was.
Friends.
Comfort.
Sex without ownership.
No expectations. No jealousy. No claims.
She hadn't rewritten the rules. He had.
And then he'd punished her for it.
The memory surfaced uninvited, Andrew standing tall and cold in his penthouse, telling her to leave. Not shouting. Not dramatic. Just final.
Like she'd done something unforgivable.
All because she'd gone to dinner with Luke.
Not slept with him.
Not lied.
Not betrayed anything.
Just dinner.
Bella's jaw tightened.
She adjusted her dress and moved toward the window, needing space to breathe.
How dare he?
How dare Andrew act like she'd crossed some invisible boundary he never had the right to draw?
He'd known from the start.
He'd said it himself, No labels. No promises.
Yet the moment she exercised that freedom, he'd turned it against her.
He'd thrown her out.
Like she belonged to him.
Her phone vibrated again.
She didn't look immediately.
She didn't need to.
She already knew it was him.
When she finally picked it up, there it was.
Andrew:
Just checking. Didn't mean anything by it.
Bella let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
Didn't mean anything by it.
That was Andrew's favorite shield understatement. Calm words that hid sharp edges. He'd mastered the art of sounding reasonable while acting anything but.
She typed a reply.
Then deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted that too.
Because anything she said right now would give him exactly what he wanted, engagement. Reassurance. Proof that he still had access to her emotions whenever he reached out.
And she wasn't ready to give him that.
She slid the phone back into her bag.
No reply.
Not now.
Not when she was still this angry.
Not when he'd made her feel like she'd done something wrong for simply being who she'd always been.
The rest of the day passed slowly.
Bella finished her designs, reviewed specs, and nodded through conversations she barely heard. By the time she left the office, dusk had settled over the city, the sky painted in muted blues and golds.
She walked to her car with a heaviness in her chest. The car Andrew had gotten her early this year as a birthday gift, even though she told him it was unnecessary.
Andrew had never acted like this before.
Possessive, yes, in small ways.
Protective always.
But this?
This felt different.
This felt like control.
She drove home in silence.
No music. No distractions.
Just the hum of the road and the echo of his voice in her head.
Go home, Bella.
The words still stung.
At her apartment, she kicked off her shoes and moved through the familiar space slowly, like she was relearning it. It was just like Andrew's penthouse. Simpler. Quieter.
Safer.
She dropped her bag on the counter and leaned back against it, arms crossing over her chest.
This wasn't what she'd signed up for.
She cared about Andrew deeply. She wasn't denying that anymore. But caring didn't mean surrendering herself to his moods. It didn't mean shrinking her life to fit his comfort.
And it definitely didn't mean accepting punishment for choices she was always allowed to make.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, she didn't ignore it.
> Andrew:
I'm not trying to start anything. Just wanted to know how you're doing.
Bella closed her eyes.
There it was again.
That careful tone. That attempt to sound harmless, like he hadn't already detonated something between them.
Her throat tightened.
He was acting like they were lovers.
Like he had a claim.
And that scared her more than she wanted to admit.
Because if Andrew believed that…
What else would he start expecting?
She finally typed a response. Short. Controlled. Honest.
Bella:
I'm fine.
But I need space right now.
She stared at the message for a full minute before hitting send.
The reply came almost instantly.
Andrew:
Space from what?
Bella scoffed.
From you, she wanted to say.
From the confusion. From the pressure. From the way he looked at her like she owed him something she never promised.
Instead, she typed:
Bella:
From this.
From being made to feel like I did something wrong when I didn't.
Three dots appeared.
Then it disappeared.
Then it appeared again.
Andrew was typing.
She didn't feel satisfaction, only exhaustion.
Andrew:
I never said you were wrong
Her fingers flew over the screen.
Bella:
You didn't have to say it.
You asked me to leave your home, Andrew. Over dinner.
Silence.
Longer this time.
She imagined him now reading her words, jaw tight, his pride wounded. The same man who hated being confronted because it forced him to face what he felt instead of controlling it.
Finally, a reply.
Andrew:
I was angry.
Bella exhaled slowly.
Bella:
And you took it out on me.
That's the problem.
She didn't wait for his response.
She turned the phone face down and walked into her bedroom, the room dim and still. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she rubbed her temples.
She wasn't asking him to stop feeling.
She was asking him to stop turning his feelings into rules for her.
If Andrew couldn't tell the difference between wanting her and owning her…
This was going to break them then.
And for the first time, Bella wondered if caring about him might cost her more than she was willing to give.