*Isabella's POV*
"But why?" The question slipped out, small and vulnerable. My stomach fucking dropped. He was just leaving? Again? After everything that had been said, after the insane proposal to break their twin bond, he was just hopping on a plane?
"I have to," he said, his voice strained, like the words were being forced out of him. He wouldn't quite meet my eyes.
"Is it the club again?" I asked, a familiar knot of dread tightening in my stomach. The club was always a source of trouble, a world I didn't belong in.
"No, not the club," he said, finally looking at me. A flicker of something else – excitement, maybe? – sparked in his eyes. "Remember the new product I showed you?"
"The new Alexa or Siri?" I asked, trying to recall. He was always showing me bits and pieces of his work, most of which flew right over my head.
"It's not a new fucking Alexa or Siri at all," Jacob said, rolling his eyes, "For fuck's sake, Isabella."
"Sorry, I don't understand techy stuff," I mumbled, feeling a bit stupid.
"Of course," he said, "We have to finish the testing, and the marketing team will start a campaign."
"But I thought it would be a surprise Christmas release," Damien's voice cut in from the doorway. He was still there, a silent, brooding observer, soaking everything in.
"Yep, it's a secret," Jacob replied, his tone shifting as he addressed his brother, becoming more condescending. "But we still need to set a campaign."
"Okay, you go and do your techy stuff," I said, waving my hand dismissively, trying to act like this whole conversation wasn't making my head spin. I just wanted him to go so I could breathe.
But as soon as the words left my mouth, he was on me. His hands cupped my face, and his lips claimed mine in a fiery, possessive kiss that stole the air right out of my lungs. It wasn't a gentle goodbye; it was a marking, a raw, desperate claim that left me dizzy and breathless.
"Wow, violent much," I said with a shaky giggle when he finally pulled away, my fingers coming up to touch my swollen lips.
"I love you to death," he said, his voice a low, intense rumble that vibrated through my very bones. His eyes were locked on mine, burning with a fierce determination. "And I'll make things right. I'll find that lady. Mark my words." He leaned in and planted a soft, lingering kiss on my cheek, a stark contrast to the possessive assault from moments before. It was a promise.
That afternoon, I began the monumental task of unpacking in my new apartment. The sound of the tape ripping of to open boxes echoed in the large space, a sharp, lonely sound. "Wow, this place is big," I muttered to myself, my voice getting lost in the high ceilings. Too big for me alone. It felt fucking huge, hollow as fuck. The feeling was strange... a disorienting mix of pride and vertigo. Being in my own home for once. Not a rental, not a shared flat, but mine.
This feeling is so fucking strange... being in my own house for once, but it is beautiful. The floors were polished concrete, the furniture was minimalist and pale, and the massive windows let in a flood of afternoon light. Modern, stylish but simple enough. Damien really does know me, and that realisation was a heavy stone in my gut.
Later that day, feeling the walls start to close in, I caved and called Cole over. "Thank you for coming," I said nervously, opening the door to a wide-eyed Cole who was standing with his hands on his hips, taking in the lobby of the building before even seeing the apartment.
"Wow, what in the actual fuck... Oh my god, what a place!" he said in awe as he stepped inside, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. He turned to me, his gaze sharp and analytical. "You have some serious explaining to do, bitch," he said, his eyes raking over my grey hoodie and sweatpants. "That outfit and the bags under your eyes... I smell a breakup."
"I'm fine, I'm just tired after all the unpacking," I lied, wrapping my arms around myself.
"Do you have some booze?" he asked, cutting right through my bullshit.
"I don't think I do," I said, gesturing to the empty kitchen cupboards.
"Nonsense," he said, "I can smell there's something here." He marched purposefully towards a built-in shelf near the kitchen. "Aha... got it!" he said, pulling out a bottle of sparkling wine that had clearly been left by Damien. "Some of this sparkling shit for my sparkling, shitty friend," he announced, already hunting for wine glasses.
"I'm sorry I sort of disappeared for a while," I said, my voice small as he poured himself a generous glass, "I'm really a shitty friend."
He just waved a dismissive hand at me. "Thank you for coming tonight," I continued, my gaze drifting around the vast, empty living room. "I just moved in and I feel kind of lonely in here." The word "lonely" felt like an understatement. It was a vast, echoing emptiness that mirrored the space around me.
He took a long, deliberate sip of his sparkling wine, his eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. He set it down with a sharp click on the pristine marble countertop, leaning forward with the gleeful expression of a gossip columnist about to get the scoop of the year.
"Now, explain," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did the better-looking twin dump you, and you got this apartment as a breakup gift?"
The question, so blunt and so fucking Cole, made me roll my eyes. "You and your fucking mouth," I sighed, sinking onto one of the stools and resting my head in my hands.
"First of all, they look exactly the same," I mumbled into my palms.
"You know what I mean," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Jacob shows more skin, and he's so... easy-going." He shuddered dramatically. "Then you left me with your stuck-up boss for an entire week. How the fuck can you work with that man?" He went on, rolling his eyes, which, despite everything, made me laugh.
"He's really not that bad," I said, a little too quickly.
"He doesn't smile," Cole said, pointing a finger at me as if he'd just solved a murder. "And he has so many fixations. Everything has to be just so. It's bloody exhausting."
"You just don't know how to make him smile," I said, a small, knowing smile playing on my own lips. "And it's not fixations, it's efficiency. He doesn't have fucking fixations." The words came out with more conviction than I felt, a defense of a man who was, by all accounts, a complete pain in the ass.