The Public Breakup
1251 Words
POV: Isla
Saturday’s donor brunch was held in the Bellamy House garden, where the university hosted its polished little ceremonies for the rich and promising.
Isla had not been invited.
But Blake had asked her to meet him afterward.
“Somewhere private.”
Which was already a bad sign.
She found him behind the conservatory, near the stone fountain, where the music from the brunch was only a muffled blur.
He looked immaculate.
Gray blazer. Crisp white shirt. The expression of a man rehearsing the right amount of regret.
ISLA:
You texted like someone died.
BLAKE:
Can we not do that?
ISLA:
Do what?
BLAKE:
Make everything harder than it has to be.
A little laugh escaped her.
ISLA:
That’s an incredible opening line.
He looked away.
That was when she knew.
Her stomach dropped, but her face stayed still.
ISLA:
Say it.
BLAKE:
Isla—
ISLA:
No. Don’t do that first. Don’t soften it. Just say it.
His jaw tightened.
BLAKE:
This isn’t working.
The world did not end.
Birds still moved in the hedges.
Water still spilled from the fountain.
Somewhere on the lawn, people were laughing over champagne.
And still, it felt like the ground had slipped one inch too far beneath her feet.
ISLA:
Why?
He exhaled like she was forcing him to be the bad guy.
BLAKE:
We want different things.
ISLA:
No. You want that sentence because it sounds better than the truth.
BLAKE:
The truth is that Blackthorn is changing fast. People are paying attention. I have opportunities now.
ISLA:
And I don’t fit into them.
He flinched.
Not because she was wrong.
Because she said it out loud.
BLAKE:
I didn’t say that.
ISLA:
You didn’t have to.
BLAKE:
You know what this place is like.
ISLA:
So this is about image.
BLAKE:
Everything here is about image.
ISLA:
And I embarrass you.
BLAKE:
Isla, please—
ISLA:
Do I embarrass you?
He didn’t answer quickly enough.
That was answer enough.
Her throat burned.
ISLA:
Wow.
BLAKE:
You’re twisting this.
ISLA:
Am I?
BLAKE:
I’m trying to build something for myself. I can’t keep fighting uphill in every room.
ISLA:
So you cut loose the part of your life that makes the wrong people look at you twice.
BLAKE:
You’re making this crueler than it is.
ISLA:
Crueler than it is?
She laughed. This time it sounded almost broken.
ISLA:
You started dating me when nobody important knew your name. You liked me when all you needed was someone loyal, someone available, someone who’d love you loudly while you climbed quietly. And now that people like Celeste Beaumont smile at you, suddenly I’m the weight you have to drop?
His face hardened.
BLAKE:
Don’t say it like that.
ISLA:
Like what? Accurate?
BLAKE:
You’re emotional right now.
ISLA:
I’m emotional?
She stepped closer.
ISLA:
You are breaking up with me because your social ambitions got bigger than your spine.
A door opened behind them.
Voices.
Then heels on stone.
Celeste walked into view with two girls beside her.
And behind them, three boys from Blake’s economics circle.
Not an accident.
Not private.
Never private.
Celeste’s perfectly painted mouth parted in fake surprise.
CELESTE:
Oh. Are we interrupting?
Blake cursed under his breath.
Too late.
Isla looked from Celeste to Blake, and the truth landed in her chest like shattered glass.
He had known they’d come.
Maybe not this exact second.
Maybe not this exact formation.
But he had chosen this place. This timing. This humiliation.
Where witnesses could see him leave her.
Where the right people could watch him become available.
ISLA:
You wanted them here.
BLAKE:
That’s not—
ISLA:
You wanted an audience.
BLAKE:
Lower your voice.
ISLA:
Why? So I can be dumped quietly enough not to stain your jacket?
Celeste folded her arms and leaned elegantly against the pillar.
CELESTE:
Blake, if this is awkward, we can go.
Her friends were already pretending not to stare.
Pretending badly.
BLAKE:
No, it’s fine.
Fine.
Isla looked at him like she had never seen him before.
Maybe she hadn’t.
ISLA:
How long?
BLAKE:
What?
ISLA:
How long have you been waiting to get rid of me?
BLAKE:
That’s unfair.
ISLA:
How long?
He said nothing.
She nodded once.
Small. Deadly calm.
ISLA:
Were you ever going to tell me before you started performing your freedom for her?
Celeste smiled faintly.
CELESTE:
Careful, Isla. You’re sounding jealous.
ISLA:
And you’re sounding cheap.
One of the boys choked on a laugh.
Celeste’s smile vanished.
BLAKE:
Enough.
ISLA:
No, Blake. You wanted witnesses. Let them witness.
Her hands were shaking now, but her voice was steady.
ISLA:
You’re embarrassed by me? Fine. Be embarrassed. But at least be honest. Don’t stand there pretending this is about timing or growth or different paths. You want access. You want status. You want the kind of girl people photograph beside you and call an upgrade.
The silence after that was brutal.
Then Celeste tilted her head.
CELESTE:
If you’re done, some of us have actual places to be.
Isla turned to her slowly.
ISLA:
Yes. I can tell. You’ve built a whole personality out of being invited.
One of Celeste’s friends gasped.
Blake stepped forward.
BLAKE:
Stop it.
ISLA:
Or what?
BLAKE:
You’re humiliating yourself.
That did it.
Not the breakup.
Not the audience.
Not even Celeste.
That sentence.
You’re humiliating yourself.
As if humiliation were something she had chosen.
As if he were not the one arranging it like flowers at a table.
Her eyes stung.
She refused to let the tears fall in front of them.
ISLA:
No, Blake. You did that.
She shoved past him.
BLAKE:
Isla—
She kept walking.
Fast.
Too fast.
Past the fountain. Past the clipped hedges. Past two girls pretending not to whisper. Past the music and sunlight and expensive glasses and all the beautiful people who never had to wonder if love would survive being seen.
By the time she reached the outer path, Naomi was jogging toward her.
NAOMI:
Hey— hey, what happened?
Isla stopped.
For one second, she held it together.
Then Naomi saw her face.
NAOMI:
Oh no.
ISLA:
He broke up with me.
NAOMI:
What?
ISLA:
Publicly. Sort of privately. Public enough.
Naomi’s expression changed so fast it was almost frightening.
NAOMI:
I will kill him.
ISLA:
Take a number.
NAOMI:
Tell me where he is.
ISLA:
Near the conservatory. Standing next to his future.
Naomi took both her hands.
NAOMI:
Look at me.
Isla did.
NAOMI:
This is not because you’re not enough.
Isla laughed, and a tear finally slipped free.
ISLA:
Isn’t it?
NAOMI:
No.
ISLA:
He looked at me like I was a mistake he’d outgrown.
Naomi’s jaw clenched.
NAOMI:
Then he’s a coward with teeth too white to be trusted.
Isla almost smiled.
Almost.
Across the garden, a fresh ripple of laughter rose.
She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
But she did anyway.
And there he was.
Blake Remington.
Already standing closer to Celeste than he had stood to Isla in weeks.
As if the transition required no mourning at all.
As if she had already been gone.
Something ripped open inside her then.
Not grief.
Not exactly.
Something hotter.
Something cleaner.
ISLA:
He’s going to regret this.
Naomi blinked.
NAOMI:
Good. I support threats.
ISLA:
No.
Isla wiped her face, straightened her spine, and looked back toward the garden like she was memorizing a battlefield.
ISLA:
I mean it.
He’s going to regret this.
- Writer
