*Isabella's POV*
Flashback
Jacob woke up to an insistent knocking on his apartment door. "Coming," he muttered, pulling on a pair of sweatpants to answer the door. When he did, he found Rebecca standing there, wearing a short, revealing dress that left little to the imagination.
"Hey, Jacob," she said, her voice a low, seductive murmur.
"Rebecca..." he said, his own voice suddenly nervous.
She strutted closer, pressing herself against him, the scent of her perfume overwhelming.
End of Flashback
"One night she came to my house, wearing something provocative, and she came to seduce me," Jacob explained, his voice barely a whisper.
"Tell me you didn't," I said, rolling my eyes, a mix of disbelief and a dawning horror starting to creep in.
"Just listen... I mean, I was already attracted to her, she was...." He was saying, trying to justify it, but I wasn't having any of it.
"Jacob," I cut him off, my voice hard, demanding an answer. "Did you fucking sleep with her?" I asked, more firmly this time, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for the answer that could break everything.
He looked down at his plate, he couldn't meet my eyes. "Well, yes... but hear me out," he said, his voice low and rushed. "She told me about her... condition. She had a condition called endometriosis. She'd had two surgeries, that's why she kept disappearing. But the illness kept coming back, so the doctor suggested that she have a baby. Apparently, a pregnancy is said to temporarily stops the illness." He paused, finally looking up at me, his eyes pleading for understanding.
"Wait, what?" I asked, my brain struggling to process this sudden, medical turn in the sordid tale.
"Okay, I know this sounds so screwed up, just listen," he said, leaning forward. "She said she told Damien she wants to have a baby, but he said the time isn't right. The company, blah, blah, blah, I need to take the CEO position, not now, after marriage, blah, blah, blah."
"Damien said that?" I asked, a flicker of disbelief cutting through my anger. It sounded so cold, so... corporate Damien.
"Stop interrupting me," he said, a hint of his old frustration returning. "I'm pretty sure she didn't tell him why she desperately wanted to have a baby. And as far as I know, both of us are big fans of protection, so she couldn't do anything else than... coming to me. At least, that's what I thought at first." He took a deep breath. "But she kept coming to me, more and more often, for procreation purposes. We kinda enjoyed our tries a little too much," he went on, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"Wait," I said, holding up a hand, my head spinning. "But you mean she didn't tell Damien she was sick? Also, how could you two hook up so much? Didn't he feel you two?"
"No, doll," he said, shaking his head. "As I told you, the feelings we had for her... were really faint, weak. If we hooked up with Damien out of town, he felt nothing at all."
"Jacob, what the hell," I said, my voice laced with disgust. "Screwing over your brother like this."
"Come on, sweetheart," he pleaded, his eyes wide. "Tell me what you would do in my place. I know you. We're both sex lovers. A hot chick was right in front of me, begging. Also, I was so used to sharing girls with Damien, my little man was confused why I couldn't have her."
"You're disgusting," I said, my voice cold and sharp. "Yes, I am a sex lover, but I most definitely would have told her to go home and be honest with her fiancé." With that, I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. I stormed out of the restaurant, not looking back.
In the limo, I settled in the furthest seat from him, pressing myself against the cool leather seats.
"Sweetheart..." he began.
"Not a word," I said, my voice shaking with suppressed rage. "Leave me be." I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. But the story wasn't finished. It was like a fucking car crash; I couldn't look away. "Actually," I said, turning to face him, my curiosity winning out over my anger. "I do want to hear how things ended. Do you have a love child? Did Damien find out and beat the crap out of you?"
"No, nothing like that," he said, shaking his head. "Well, he did beat me up, but after..." he paused, his gaze dropping to his hands.
"After what?" I asked, my heart starting to pound again.
"She died," he said, his voice so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
"What?" I gasped, the word a choked whisper of pure shock.
"Rebecca died," he said, looking up at me, his eyes filled with a pain so old and deep it made my chest ache. "They told us it's not common for her condition, but she didn't take care of herself and she had internal bleeding."
"Was she pregnant?" I asked nervously, the thought of a lost child adding another layer of horror to the story.
"No, she wasn't," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Her condition never allowed her to get pregnant."
"Oh, fuck," I breathed, the full weight of the tragedy crashing down on me. "This is terrible. That's why Damien changed offices and permanently hid in Raleigh."
"Correct," he said.
"Did he come here, mourning her?" I asked.
"Yes," Jacob said. "After the funeral, I confessed everything. He beat me, and then he just left town, without looking back."
"This is a disaster," I said, leaning my head back against the seat, all my anger and self-righteousness completely drained away, replaced by a profound, aching sadness. "I don't even know what to say."
The ride back to the mansion was a fucking tomb. The silence in the limo was no longer comfortable or charged; it was heavy, suffocating, filled with the ghost of a woman named Rebecca and the weight of a story that should have been told years ago. Jacob sat opposite me, staring out the window, his usual vibrant energy completely extinguished. He looked as hollow as I felt.
When we got back, the house was just as bad. It was too big, too quiet, every shadow seeming to hold a secret. I didn't even have to guess where Damien would be.
I found him in his study, of course. Where the fuck else would he be?
He was in his chair, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a black, starless sky. He wasn't looking at the view, though. He was just staring into space, a half-empty glass of liquid held loosely in his hand. On the desk next to him sat the bottle. another twenty-thousand-dollar whiskey. And it was already halfway to fucking empty.
My heart did a painful little clench. Not anger this time. Just a profound, aching sadness.
"Damien, are you that fucking weak?" I muttered, more to myself than to him. I walked into the room, my footsteps silent on the thick carpet. "Put the damn glass down."
He didn't even react, just kept staring into nothingness. I walked up to his desk, my movements deliberate. I reached out and took the glass from his hand, my fingers brushing against his cold ones. I set it down on the desk with a soft, definitive click.
Then I walked around the desk and hugged him.
I wrapped my arms around his stiff, unyielding frame, pulling his unresisting body against me. He smelled of expensive whiskey and raw, unshed grief. For a second, he just sat there, a statue carved from pain and expensive suits.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I whispered into the crisp fabric of his shirt. The words felt inadequate, pathetic, but they were all I had.