Chapter 3

Isabella's POV

He looks at me, a flash of guilt in his eyes, quickly overtaken by irritation.

"Isabella, stop making a scene." He lowers his voice, like placating an out-of-control child. "Let's talk about this later, okay? The guests are still waiting. You don't want them to see you like this, do you?"

Like this.

I look down at myself—hands shaking, tears already falling uncontrollably, breathing as ragged as if I just crawled out of drowning water.

I must look pathetic.

Maybe even ridiculous.

"Talk about what later?" I speak each word deliberately, my voice so cold it's foreign even to me. "About how you and your ex stay in touch? About how she can touch you however she wants and you don't need to push her away? Or maybe—about how exactly you thought to walk into this bookstore two years ago?"

"I—" Marcus opens his mouth but can't produce any strong defense.

Because he's not prepared, or perhaps, he never wanted to prepare.

Olivia's laugh rings out again, sharper than before. "Marcus, don't waste time. You can't possibly stay in a place like this forever..."

She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the rundown courtyard, the stacked boxes, and the door to my bookstore behind me.

"Stay in a place like this pretending to be ordinary. You're Marcus Donovan. You never should have been trapped here."

Pretending to be ordinary.

I look up at Marcus, waiting for him to say "that's not true," to say "I'm not pretending," to say anything even slightly on my side.

But he says nothing.

He just stands there looking at me, that bit of guilt fading more and more, the irritation growing clearer.

So from the very beginning, he was pretending.

"Please don't come to my bookstore anymore." I hear myself say, voice so low it seems to seep up from underground.

Then I turn and walk toward the store.

"Isabella, wait—" Marcus calls out behind me, but no footsteps follow.

I do hear Olivia's laugh though, contemptuous and grating. "Let her go, Marcus. You're not really planning to stay in a place like this forever, are you?"

Each step feels like walking on cotton. I can barely feel the ground beneath me, moving forward only by habit.

Push open the door.

Walk into the bookstore.

Close the door.

Inside and outside are like two different worlds.

The guests are still chatting, some still laughing and raising glasses, background music flowing gently. Katya sees me and waves, smiling. "Isabella, where's Marcus? We were just about to—"

Her smile freezes when she sees my face clearly.

"Oh honey, what happened?" She rushes over, gripping my arm. "Are you crying?"

I shake my head, trying to swallow the tears back, but find I can't.

"I'm fine." My voice shakes badly. "I just... I need..."

What do I need?

I don't know.

I only know that something behind me is rapidly collapsing, and I no longer have the strength to turn back and look.

"Come, sit down first. Take your time." Katya guides me to a chair, her tone gentle but carrying undeniable firmness.

I open my mouth but find my throat blocked, unable to speak.

I can only stare blankly at the bookshelf across from me—that copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets lying there quietly, as harmless as always.

The ring is still hidden in the spine.

I suddenly laugh, and once the sound escapes, tears flow even harder.

Ezra walks over, handing me a glass of water. "Drink some water, child."

I take the glass but can't control my shaking. Water sloshes over the rim, half of it spilling on the floor.

"Where's Marcus?" Griffin asks. He can't see, but he keenly senses the change in the air. "Is he still outside?"

"He..." I barely steady my voice, still pausing. "He's not coming back."

"What?" Katya frowns. "Did you two have a fight?"

I shake my head.

It wasn't a fight.

It's that I suddenly saw clearly some things I'd never dared examine closely.

I just haven't had time to name them yet.

My phone buzzes.

I look down. On the screen is a text from Marcus:

"Sorry, something came up tonight. Let's talk tomorrow, okay? I'll explain everything."

Explain.

What will he explain?

I don't reply immediately, just stare at that line of text, feeling the letters gently swaying before my eyes.

"Isabella, you need rest." Katya says softly. "We'll leave now, okay? Get some sleep tonight. Think about these things tomorrow. A lot of things look different after a good night's sleep."

I nod mechanically, but I know clearly—tomorrow won't make anything "better."

The guests leave one by one. Their eyes are full of concern and curiosity, but they're all tactful enough not to ask more questions. Before leaving, Griffin fumbles to find my shoulder and pats it gently:

"Child, remember—sometimes things aren't what they seem on the surface."

I'm not sure if that's comfort or a warning.

The door closes behind them.

I'm alone in the bookstore.

The string lights still blink rhythmically. Half the cake remains. Champagne glasses scatter across the table. This should have been a perfect night, the night I'd been anticipating for six whole months.

And now it all looks like an elaborately arranged, cruel joke.

I walk to that copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets and pull it from the shelf.

Open the pages. Open the spine.

The ring lies there quietly, gleaming coldly under the lights.

I take it out, holding it in my palm. The cold metal feels like a needle, making my fingertips ache faintly.

Soul Mate.

Soul mate.

I stare at those two engraved words as details from the past two years begin surfacing in my mind:

Marcus always loved flipping through old books when I wasn't around, saying he was "taking reading notes."

Those frequent "business trips."

Those calls he quickly dismissed, saying they were "work."

What Olivia just said—"pretending to be ordinary," "wasting time."

Why did he come to my bookstore?

Why did he want to be with me?

These two years—what was real, and what was fake?

I slowly push the ring back into the spine and close the book.

Then I lean back against the bookshelf and slowly slide to the floor.

Cold floor. So quiet I can almost hear the faint electric current when the string lights blink.

I wrap my arms around my knees, burying my face in them.

Tears fall silently, quickly soaking through my sleeves.

So from the very beginning, it was all a lie.

I just don't know yet how deep this lie goes.