Her new room felt like another life. Minimalist, pristine, with a balcony that stretched over the glittering city. A far cry from her old apartment, yet still just four walls and a door. What made it different was the silence, it carried possibility.
She unpacked quickly, then set to work. Articles on nutrition and fitness filled her screen. She scribbled notes, sketched plans, imagining Ethan not just slimmer but lighter, freer. This wasn't only about suits; it was about his whole life.
That night, she called home. Her mother's voice wrapped around her like a blanket. They talked for hours, her father's garden, her brother's school project. By the end, Isabela's heart was warm, steady.
Later, she wandered the halls of the penthouse. The art was stunning, the silence heavy. As she neared the pool, she stopped. Ethan was there, sitting on the edge, a bottle beside him. Shoulders slumped, eyes shut, the kind of quiet that screamed louder than words.
She tried to slip away, but the marble floor betrayed her. His eyes opened. For a moment, she froze. Then he gave her a faint, sad smile, motioning her closer.
They sat in silence first, then he spoke. Not about business. Not about clothes. About his daughter. Small, tender stories that carried both love and loss.
Isabela listened, her heart aching for him.
Days later, while sorting his closet, she discovered a tuxedo, still wrapped in its garment bag. A perfect piece, untouched by time. She recognized it from old photos, hanging on the wall of the penthouse, his wedding day. A tuxedo for a man who had been full of life.
She held it carefully, but Ethan's voice froze her. "What are you doing?"
He stood in the doorway, his face hard, eyes fixed on the tuxedo.
"I was just…sorting," she stammered, offering it to him.
His gaze softened. He took the suit, holding it as though it were a ghost. "I can't get rid of it."
"You don't have to," she said gently. "This isn't about erasing the past. It's about building a future. I'll help you get back to the size you were that day. You'll wear it again."
He looked at her, startled. Hope flickered, raw, fragile, but real. For the first time, the walls around him seemed to crack.
He nodded slowly. "Then we have a deal, " he smirked ."
And in that quiet moment, the penthouse didn't feel like a mausoleum anymore. It felt like the beginning of a home.