Chapter 2
1103 Words
Isabella’s POV
I did not cry until midnight.
Not when Ryan walked out.
Not while I scraped untouched food into the bin and blew out candles one by one.
Not while I stood at the sink washing dishes I had spent hours preparing.
Not even when I carried the flowers to the rubbish chute because their sweetness suddenly made me feel sick.
I cried when I climbed into bed alone and found the hollow on his side of the mattress already cold.
That was when the truth slipped past all the pride I had been holding together.
He had not forgotten our anniversary.
He simply had not cared.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my mouth to smother the sound, tears soaking the pillow beneath me.
Inside the bedside drawer was the tiny white pregnancy test wrapped in tissue paper. I had hidden it there after dinner, unable to bear looking at it.
Pregnant.
The word should have felt like joy.
Instead, it now felt like fear.
I barely slept. Every sound from the street below made me think Ryan had come back. Every passing car made my heart lift and then fall again.
By three in the morning, I gave up pretending.
I got out of bed, wrapped a silk robe around myself, and walked barefoot through the penthouse.
The place looked beautiful in the dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights glittering beyond them, marble counters, expensive art Ryan had chosen because it looked successful.
None of it felt like home tonight.
I found his whisky glass still sitting on the sideboard, ice melted to amber water. I tipped it into the sink.
Then I saw his spare phone charger missing.
My stomach tightened.
Ryan never went anywhere overnight without it.
I told myself there were explanations.
A late meeting. Drinks with clients. Staying at the office.
But another voice inside me, quieter and crueler, whispered one word.
Her.
Chloe Bennett.
My best friend for almost four years.
Chloe with the perfect blow-dries and louder laugh. Chloe who hugged too long and complimented Ryan too easily. Chloe who always said I was lucky to have a man so driven.
I had noticed things. Tiny things.
Texts Ryan turned face down.
Chloe suddenly knowing details of his schedule I had not been told.
The way they shared private looks and then changed the subject when I entered a room.
I had swallowed every doubt because trust was easier than truth.
At 7:12 a.m., the front door opened.
I froze in the kitchen.
Ryan walked in wearing yesterday’s suit, tie gone, shirt creased. He looked tired but not ashamed.
“Morning,” he said, as if he had just returned from a jog.
I stared at him. “Where were you?”
He loosened his cuffs. “Working.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
He walked to the coffee machine and pressed the button.
No hesitation. No guilt.
My heart pounded so hard I could hear it.
“You couldn’t send one message?”
Ryan glanced at me. “I was busy.”
“You disappeared on our anniversary.”
“Must we do this before caffeine?”
The machine hummed between us.
I had never wanted to throw something at someone before.
“I waited all night.”
“That was your choice.”
The cruelty of it made me step back.
Ryan took his coffee, leaned against the counter, and finally looked at me properly.
“You’re being dramatic.”
I laughed once, sharp and unbelieving.
“Dramatic?”
“Yes. It was dinner, Isabella. Not a state event.”
“It was our marriage.”
He rolled his eyes.
“There you go again. Everything has to mean something with you.”
I stared at the man in front of me and tried to find the version I had loved. The one who used to kiss my forehead in supermarkets. The one who promised me we would always be a team.
This man wore his face, but not his soul.
“I had something important to tell you,” I said quietly.
Ryan took a sip of coffee. “Tell me now.”
The words sat on my tongue.
I’m pregnant.
But suddenly I imagined saying them and seeing annoyance instead of joy. Obligation instead of love.
I swallowed them back down.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
He shrugged. “Good.”
My chest tightened.
Then his phone buzzed on the counter.
The screen lit up.
Chloe calling.
Neither of us moved.
For one suspended second, everything in the room became painfully clear.
Ryan reached for the phone too quickly.
I got there first.
My fingers closed around it and I looked at the screen again, as if the name might somehow change.
It didn’t.
Chloe.
At seven-thirteen in the morning.
Ryan’s jaw hardened. “Give me that.”
I looked up slowly.
“Why is Chloe calling you this early?”
“She needs advice.”
“She has other friends.”
“She prefers competent ones.”
I flinched.
He saw it.
And still he did not apologise.
The phone continued vibrating in my hand.
I answered it.
“Ryan?” Chloe’s bright voice came through immediately. “You left your watch here.”
Silence crashed through me.
Then a softer laugh from her end.
“Oh.”
Ryan snatched the phone from my hand and ended the call.
No denial.
No explanation.
No panic.
Just irritation.
I felt strangely calm.
“Say something,” he demanded.
I looked at him, really looked at him.
The rumpled shirt.
The missing watch.
The woman calling from wherever he had spent the night.
And the man who expected me to be embarrassed instead of enraged.
“How long?” I asked.
Ryan said nothing.
“How long?” I repeated.
His silence was answer enough.
The baby inside me suddenly felt like the only real thing left in the room.
I placed a hand lightly over my stomach without thinking.
Ryan’s eyes flicked downward.
“What was so important you needed to tell me?” he asked.
I dropped my hand.
Nothing in me trusted him enough anymore.
I straightened my shoulders.
“Nothing,” I said.
Then I walked past him toward the bedroom.
Behind me, his voice followed coldly.
“If you’re going to sulk all day, keep it quiet. I have calls.”
I stopped in the hallway, every illusion finally burning away.
And for the first time since meeting Ryan Cole, I thought something far more dangerous than heartbreak.
I thought about leaving.
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