The Wife He Left Behind

Chapter 3

The Suite

Isabel’s POV

I stood in front of my mirror, fixing the smallest details of my appearance with mechanical precision. My fingers barely trembled as I pulled my hair into a neat bun and applied a soft coat of lipstick—the same berry red Celeste had worn. My dress was black, fitted, and quiet. Not mourning, not elegance. Just armor.

The address was already saved in my memory. I had seen it before when I helped Adrian plan company retreats. I knew the hotel. Knew it was one of the places Celeste had mentioned during brunch months ago, gushing about how luxurious and discreet it was.

I didn't remember walking out the door.

I didn't remember hailing the cab or mumbling the name of the hotel I’d Googled barely fifteen minutes earlier. All I remember is the cold, sinking feeling in my chest, like my ribs had caved in and were pressing on my lungs, forcing every breath to come slower, harder.

All I remember is that I left the mansion without breakfast, without touching the wine still sitting on the table from the night before. The sky was overcast, mirroring the storm inside me and the drive passed in silence, the kind thick enough to suffocate.

When I reached the hotel, everything looked... perfect, pristine. Marble floors glistened under designer lighting and a fountain in the lobby gurgled gently. The concierge gave me a small smile far too bright for the occasion.

Room 805. Don’t keep me waiting again ;)

The message looped in my mind as if etched into my skull. Every time I blinked, I saw it.

Again. Cheerful and mocking. I saw her, Celeste. The woman I called my best friend. The woman I trusted with my husband. I was kind enough to get her a job with my husband—maybe too kind. Now regret, pain and everything negative overcame my heart.

My heels clicked steadily as I walked to the front desk, but my legs felt like they didn’t belong to me.

“Good morning,” the receptionist said. “Welcome to Highcrest Towers. How may I help you?”

I took a breath and softened my voice. “Hi, I’m Celeste Warren. I believe there’s a room under my name? Room 805?”

The receptionist checked her screen, fingers typing quickly. “Yes, Ms. Warren. Room 805. I hope you're enjoying your stay. Do you need a new key card?”

“Yes, please. I left mine in the room.”

No hesitation. No questions, no suspicion. Just a polite nod as she handed me a sleek black key card. I almost laughed. It was so easy. Pretty girls with polite voices and designer dresses rarely raised suspicion. I saw that now.

I made my way to the elevators, clutching the card like it might burn a hole through my palm. Floor eight arrived too quickly. The hallway stretched before me—clean, cold, and painfully quiet.

I didn’t plan any of this. I’d only wanted to confirm that it wasn’t real—that my imagination, formed by exhaustion and suspicion, had created a false narrative. But when the receptionist confirmed the appointment in Celeste's name I should have stopped. I should have turned. But I didn't.

Room 805 was at the end, My hand hovered over the polished brass handle. I stood at the door nervous. Praying so hard that I would be disappointed but somehow a dreadful hollow in my stomach said otherwise.

I slipped the key card into the reader. It beeped green.

The door opened.

What I saw knocked the breath clean from my lungs. My legs grew weak and I nearly passed out.

Adrian stood near the window in nothing but a pair of black slacks, his shirt undone, exposing the curve of his chest. The same chest I once pressed my ear to just to hear his heartbeat at night. He was smiling, glass of champagne in hand.

And in front of him was Celeste, dressed in one of his white button-ups, sleeves rolled up, legs bare. She was barefoot, perched lazily on the edge of the couch with one leg draped over the armrest, a champagne flute dangling between her fingers.

They were laughing. Not guilty, not startled, just comfortable. Familiar. Like it wasn’t a mistake, but a routine.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind me caught their attention.

Adrian turned first. His smile froze, body stiffened. But he didn’t panic. He didn’t scramble to explain.

Celeste was the same. She didn’t flinch. Just leaned back leisurely, her eyes meeting mine with unflinching confidence.

I felt my body turned to stone. My throat burned.

“Adrian...” I said, but the name came out more like a breath than a voice.

He sighed, actually sighed. Like he’d just finished a long meeting and I was the paperwork he forgot to file. Celeste stood slowly and crossed the room to him, looping her arm around his.

“She deserves to know,” she purred, her voice soft, almost amused. “Don’t you think?”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. For the first time in months. His eyes were tired, not with shame—but with finality. Like the decision had already been made long before this day arrived. Like I was the one clinging to something that had already died.

I took a step forward. “You lied to me.”

He shook his head, glass still in hand. “No. I stopped telling you things you didn’t want to hear.”

The words hit harder than a slap. I blinked, stunned.

“I gave you everything,” I whispered. “Nine years, Adrian. Nine. I stood by you when you had nothing. When your startup failed, when your father got sick. I built this life with you. And you blew up our anniversary to be with this?” I said sizing Celestine up.

Adrian looked at me with a kind of sad pity, and then did the one thing I wasn’t prepared for.

He smiled.

“I know, and that’s why I wanted to do this the right way.”

I laughed. A sharp, bitter and hollow kind of laugh. “Is this the right way? Cheating on me with my best friend? Drifting away from me slowly for months?”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t act surprised. You’ve been playing pretend for months. You knew we were doing this so we stopped pretending.” She didn’t even look ashamed. But I was shocked.

The same girl I bore my heart to just yesterday. She feigned pity. She pretended to feel my pain while she felt nothing. Instead she was the one with the knife. Stabbing it deeper and deeper into my heart.

I stepped forward again, ignoring her. My eyes met his, our frame close enough to see the smudged lipstick on Adrian’s collar.

“I loved you,” I said. “I still love you.”

He set his champagne glass down on the table, then turned to face me fully. His eyes met mine, steady and sharp.

“I don’t love you anymore, Isabel,” he said. “I choose her.”

Silence descended on the room like a cloud. I heard nothing more but my blood pounding in my ears. The room spun slightly. My hands reached for the edge of the couch to steady myself, but I refused to fall. Not in front of them. Not when Celeste leaned closer into him like she'd already won some twisted prize.

I nodded once.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “Now I know.”

I turned, walked back through the open door, and down the hallway on legs that barely held me. Celeste stopped in the way and I turned. My eyes glaring at her with disgust and hers with contempt.

“Why did you do this?”

“I gave you everything you needed, why did you choose to take him too?” I said in a low voice barely holding in the tears in my eyes.

“I have always wanted him too.” she spat. “You always get the good stuff.”

This time I let the tears fall freely. “That was the one thing I couldn't share.” I whispered and took myself far away from her. The moment the elevator doors closed behind me, my body caved forward and I pressed both hands to my chest.

He chose her. He said it out loud.

And somehow, the worst part wasn’t even the betrayal—it was how easy it was for him to say it. How weightless the words felt on his tongue.

The cab was still out there, waiting. I drove back home in a daze. The sky was now a dull gray, threatening rain. But I didn't care. Let it rain. Let it pour.

The mansion was quiet, empty, waiting.

I stood in the foyer, shoes still on, and stared at our wedding photo on the wall. A younger version of me stared back, eyes bright with belief. Adrian’s arm was around my waist, smile wide and real. Even Celeste and Eli Adrian's best friend was right beside us, smiling. We looked like we had everything.

Maybe we did.

That was when my stomach churned. I ran to the kitchen and puked. Feeling sick all over. I couldn't tell if it was from the betrayal, or if there was something else. I desperately hoped there was nothing else. Because Adrian does not deserve anything from me.

Not anymore.