Chapter 4
Isabelle's POV
The restaurant feels warm, candlelight dancing in the crystal glasses. I stare at the empty seat across from me. Three years ago, when we first came here, he said this would be our spot.
Serena's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Ah—" She clutches her stomach, her face draining of color.
Vincent's on his feet instantly, rushing to her side. "What's wrong? What hurts?"
"My stomach..." Serena says weakly, looking down at the table. "I think there's raw seafood in this... I can't have that... the baby... what if something happens to the baby..."
His hand lands on her shoulder. I know that gesture too well. Countless times, when I'd wince from some small pain, he steadied me just like that.
"We're going to the hospital." Vincent's voice is tight.
I hear myself speaking. "She doesn't look that bad..."
But he's already lifting Serena into his arms. Her hands loop around his neck, head resting against his chest.
"Sorry." He finally looks at me. I see apology in his eyes, but more than that, impatience. "Next time. I promise I'll make it up to you."
Next time.
There's always a next time.
I think about that rainy night five years ago. I'd cut my finger at home, blood everywhere. He left an important negotiation, ran every red light to get back. By the time he carried me into the ER, his shirt was covered in my blood.
The doctor said it was just a small cut. Just needed some bandaging, nothing more.
But he sat by my bed all night, holding my hand. "One of your fingers matters more than any deal," he told me. "In my world, you always come first."
In this world, I'm not even second place anymore.
Vincent carries Serena toward the exit. At the door, he glances back. His lips move like he wants to say something.
But he doesn't. Then he's gone.
I sit there, looking at the two carefully prepared dinners on the table.
How many times now.
I've lost count, but I know one thing. Every single time, he chooses her.
And every single time, I wait for a next time that never comes.
The waiter approaches carefully. "Ma'am, would you like me to—"
"No." I pick up my knife and fork. "Just take away his plate."
He hesitates, then does it.
I cut into the steak. Blood pools on the plate. Each bite is slow, like I'm chewing through three years of promises, three years of lies.
Around me, couples murmur and laugh. Only my table sits silent, like an island.
When I finish the last bite, I pull out my phone.
It rings three times before she answers.
"I have one last request."
Vincent's mother is quiet for a few seconds. "What request?"
"I want to be dead to him. Completely."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Whatever it takes." I stand, heading for the exit. "Just remember, after tonight, I don't exist anymore."
Her voice turns serious. "You're sure about this?"
"I've never been more sure."
The moment I step outside, cold air hits my face.
I walk into the dark. I don't look back.
Her voice comes through the phone one last time. "I understand. I'll handle it."
The hospital hallway lights are harsh and white.
Vincent paces outside the VIP room, checking his phone over and over. It's been two hours.
The door finally opens. The doctor pulls down his mask.
"You got her here in time. Nothing serious." The doctor sounds casual. "Just ate something that didn't agree with her. Upset stomach. She'll be fine after some rest. The baby's healthy."
Vincent exhales. He pushes through the door.
Serena lies in bed, still pale. When she sees him, she manages a weak smile. "I'm sorry. I scared you again."
"Don't say that." Vincent sits beside her.
"Isabelle..." Serena bites her lip. "Do you think she's mad? Today was supposed to be your anniversary... this is all my fault."
"Don't worry about it." Vincent says. "She'll understand. I'll explain everything."
Serena nods and closes her eyes. Soon her breathing evens out. She's asleep.
Vincent watches her sleep. Suddenly he thinks of Isabelle.
She used to look like this when she was sick, lying weak in a hospital bed while he stayed all night. But back then he stayed because of love. Now, what is this?
Duty? Family? Or something he doesn't want to admit. Escape?
He checks the time. Past one in the morning. Did Isabelle go home? Or is she still at the hotel, waiting like an idiot? He should call.
No. Tomorrow. Let her cool down tonight.
Vincent stands, walks to the window, and calls his assistant.
"Pick up Mrs. Caruso from the hotel."
"Got it."
He hangs up and lights a cigarette. Outside, the city's still awake, neon bleeding into the dark.
Time passes. The cigarette in his hand burns out. He snaps back, reaching for his phone just as it rings. His assistant.
"Boss..." The voice on the other end shakes. "We got a problem!"
"What happened?"
"The hotel... it's been bombed!" He's almost shouting. "The whole place is rubble! Fire everywhere!"
The cigarette drops from Vincent's fingers.
"What?"
"Has to be the rival family! They found out you'd be there, planted a bomb!" The assistant's breathing hard. "Our guys are searching the wreckage, but with how things look... Mrs. Caruso, she might..."
