People at the office only saw me as the sweet one — the polite, soft-spoken girl with a timid smile actress that looks for their boss.. They thought my giggles were genuine, my helpful nature pure. No one suspected the storm I carried inside me. No one knew how much I burned with envy each time Nerissa looks at me, owning the room without even trying.
Today was no different. The moment i entered George's office, my gaze followed him. I knew every tired flicker in his eyes, the way his lips tightened when she was near. And I hated her for it — for having a claim over him when I should have been the one beside him.
She didn't deserve him. She never did. And i even hated more when George's let her met me. I already know who she was, i wasn't naive as he expected me to be.
The moment the clock struck his arrival time, I was ready. I waited, like a predator hiding in plain sight, until I have George alone. He looked drained, almost defeated — and I knew this was my chance when i let him come into my hotel.
"George," I called softly, my voice dripping with the same sweetness everyone knew me for. "You look exhausted… Let me help you. You shouldn't drive like this. I'll take care of you, okay?"
He didn't protest much. He was already tipsy from the drinks earlier, and I led him out as though I was simply doing a kind deed. But inside, my mind was alive with a thousand schemes. I know he was already confused on everything but one thing she will made it clear, i am the only woman who loves him as him.
When we reached my bedroom, I coaxed him in with a soft laugh. "You just need to rest. You'll feel better after a little nap." My hands were steady even when my heart pounded with anticipation. I helped him out of his coat, his shirt… he didn't even have the strength to argue. His head lolled slightly, eyes half-closed, as I carefully worked at his belt.
Every movement was calculated. Not out of lust, but strategy.
Soon, he was lying there — bare, vulnerable, in my bed. I slipped in beside him, resting my head on his chest just long enough to let the scene burn in my memory. I could already see it: Nerissa's face, crumbling in shock, believing exactly what I wanted her to believe.
I pulled the blanket over us and positioned myself as though we had just… finished. My lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. Sweet, innocent Isabelle would soon be the dagger in Nerissa's heart. Come to me Nerissa, and feel the hurt i am feeling too when you made love with George.This man is mine.
And when the door opened later — when she saw him like this — she would never forget it.
Lying beside George now, watching his chest rise and fall in drunken sleep, I couldn't stop my mind from dragging me back to that night. The night he broke me without even realizing it.
We were in his car, parked under the soft glow of the streetlights. I had thought… foolishly… that he was going to confess something beautiful, something that would make my heart finally stop aching. I had rehearsed my own words in my head a thousand times. We can make it a secret while i am still taping my movie and after that she is already free to announce everything to the press.
Instead, he turned to me, his eyes shadowed but honest, and said the words that still sliced me open every time I replayed them:
> "Isabelle… I need to marry someone. But it can't be you."
At first, I thought he was teasing — some strange, cruel joke. I even laughed a little, waiting for him to take it back. But then he added, in that maddeningly calm tone:
> "You're an actress. You have a career to protect… an image to maintain. And I… I have responsibilities. I need to marry someone …
but i promise you, that is only a pretend marriage "
I remember staring at him, frozen, my fingers clutching the hem of my dress so hard that my knuckles turned white. My voice barely worked when I whispered, "So you think I'm not good enough?"
He had sighed, shaking his head, as though my hurt was an inconvenience to him. "It's not about that, Isabelle. It's about what I need to do. What I have to prove."
What he needed to do. What he had to prove. And I — I was just… not part of that.
That was the night I learned the bitter truth: love wasn't enough. Not for George. Not when there were games of power, legacy, and image at play.
And yet here he was now, lying in my bed, stripped bare, helpless in my arms — exactly where Nerissa would never want him to be.
I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and let my fingers linger on his cheek.
She might be his wife on paper, but I could make her believe she had already lost him. And when she did, maybe she'd walk away.
And then, maybe, George would finally see that the only person who truly stayed… was me.
The sound of the door slamming still echoed in my ears. Nerissa's face — pale, furious, devastated — flashed in my mind like a perfect painting. She had seen exactly what I wanted her to see.
George stirred beside me, groaning softly as he blinked into the dim light of my bedroom. His brows furrowed in confusion, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings before landing on me.
" Nerissa…?" His voice was hoarse. "Isabelle… what's going on? Why am I—"
I pressed my fingertips gently to his lips, silencing him. My expression stayed soft, but my words carried the weight of my own truth… or at least the truth I wanted him to believe.
"She saw us, George," I whispered, my voice breaking just enough to sound real. "Your pretend wife. She was here. She saw you… with me."
His eyes widened, panic flashing through them. "What?! Isabelle, I—"
I leaned closer, my palm resting on his bare chest. "Don't you see? That woman… she doesn't love you. She doesn't even know who you really are. She only loves the version of you that fits her pride. But me…" I swallowed hard, letting my lashes lower in a practiced moment of vulnerability. "I'm the only woman who has ever loved you. The real you. Without the money. Without the title. Without the perfect image you're always trying to keep."
He tried to sit up, but I held him down with a gentle, almost pleading touch. "I don't care if you're drunk. I don't care if you've lost everything tomorrow. I would still choose you. Always. And deep down… you know that's true."
For a moment, he just stared at me — conflicted, guilt and confusion battling in his eyes. I could see it working… the doubt creeping in, the seed I'd planted taking root.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. "She'll never forgive you now, George. But me… I will. Because I love you. And I'm still here."
He sat there in silence, still trying to piece together what had happened. His hand rubbed his temple, his breathing uneven. I could tell the alcohol haze was wearing off, but so was his sense of certainty. That's what I needed — for him to be unsure. For him to question her.
"George…" I began softly, brushing my fingertips along his forearm. "You don't have to go after her. Not this time. She made her choice the moment she walked away."
He shook his head slowly. "No, you don't understand, Isabelle… Nerissa's my—"
"Your wife?" I cut in gently, my tone free of anger but dripping with quiet pity. "Yes. I know. But tell me… when was the last time she really saw you, George? Not the man she expects you to be… but you?"
He froze. I could see him thinking, searching for an answer he couldn't find.
"You've been trying to make her happy," I continued, my voice lowering to an intimate murmur. "Trying to fix things, prove yourself… but every time, she pulls away. Every time, you're the one left bleeding."
His gaze dropped to the floor. That was my opening.
"I would never make you feel that way," I whispered, letting my thumb trace the back of his hand. "I don't care about the fights, the money, or the image. You could lose it all tomorrow and I'd still be here. Because I know you, George. I know the man who gets tired. The man who laughs when he's not supposed to. The man who needs someone to just… stay."
I let my eyes glisten, just enough to look sincere. "And I've stayed. Haven't I? Through everything?"
He didn't answer — but he didn't pull away either. That was enough.
I leaned closer, close enough for my breath to touch his cheek. "Let her go, George. She'll never forgive you for this. Even if you explain, she'll only see what she wants to see. But me…" My lips curved into a sad smile. "I forgive you before you've even asked. Because I love you. More than she ever could."
I watched his shoulders slump — not in surrender yet, but in exhaustion. That was fine. Exhaustion made men easy to keep.
Inside, my heart throbbed with satisfaction. The wedge was in place. Now, all I had to do was press harder until it split them apart completely. I needed a month for my career and that's enough to separate them both perfectly.
I thought he would stay.
I thought the guilt, the shame, and the scene I'd staged would pin him to my side, needing my comfort.
But instead, he pushed himself out of bed, stumbling a little as he grabbed his clothes.
"George… where are you going?" I asked softly, my voice coated in concern, though inside, panic prickled at the edges of my calm.
He didn't even look at me as he buttoned his shirt. "Home. I need to find Nerissa."
The words were like glass in my throat. "George—she saw you here. She's gone. Let her go."
But he was shaking his head, his jaw tight. "It's raining hard, Isabelle. She's not answering her phone. What if she's out there somewhere?"
I stood there, helplessly watching him lace his shoes. The sound of the pounding rain outside only seemed to fuel his urgency.
"She's fine," I tried again, stepping closer. "She left you, George. Maybe it's time you accept that."
But he looked up at me then — and I hated the way his eyes softened, not for me, but for her. "You don't understand… she's my wife. Whatever happened, I can't just leave her out there. Not in this storm."
The ache in my chest twisted into something darker as I watched him head for the door.
Minutes later, I heard the roar of his car in the rain. I could imagine him tearing through the streets, headlights cutting through the downpour, scanning every corner for her.
And then I heard it — the voice over the intercom in my apartment hallway as the rain hammered against the windows:
"Sir George asked us to search the grounds," one of the security guards told another. "He says his wife might be lost in this weather."
Even the guards were looking for her.
I gripped the edge of the window, nails digging into the frame. My plan was slipping — because no matter what I'd done, no matter what Nerissa thought she saw… George's instinct was still to find her.
I whispered into the storm, my voice almost trembling. "You can run back to her now, George… but she won't have you for long."
Because if this night did break her… I would make sure the next one will cripple her.
Watch me take you back after a month.
Don't make me mad George, i don't want sharing anything that is mine.