"Do you ever think about me when we're not together?" Ethan's voice cracked slightly as he asked it. He hadn't planned to, but the words slipped out, raw and unpolished.
Isabella turned her head on the pillow, studying him. The thin hotel sheets were tangled around her legs, and a strand of hair had fallen across her cheek. She looked younger like this, softer. "All the time," she said finally. "And it terrifies me."
Ethan let out a shaky laugh. "Terrifies you?"
"Of course it does." She propped herself up on her elbow, her wedding ring glinting faintly in the slant of evening light. She twisted it without realizing. "I'm not supposed to be here with you. I'm supposed to be… somewhere else. With him."
The word him sat between them, heavy. Ethan hated it. He hated the thought of anyone else's name stitched into her life.
"I don't care where you're supposed to be," he said quietly. "I just care that you're here."
For a moment, she only looked at him — as though measuring how much of him she could believe. Then, slowly, she leaned in and kissed him, and the conversation dissolved in heat.
---
Their days together became a rhythm all their own. Coffee shops across town where no one knew her face. Walks through quiet parks where they sat too close, knees brushing, hands hidden between them. His phone buzzing at odd hours with her name flashing across the screen.
Once, she showed up at his apartment unannounced, breathless, rain dripping from her coat. Ethan opened the door, stunned.
"Isabella—"
"Don't say anything," she said, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of rain and panic. "Just—don't talk. Please."
They collapsed against the couch, laughing in between frantic kisses. Later, when her breathing slowed, she admitted, "Sometimes I just need to feel… free. And you're the only place I find that."
Ethan didn't know how to answer, so he just held her. He knew it wasn't enough. He knew he wanted more — wanted all of her, not just the stolen hours. But he couldn't say it, not yet.
---
There were softer moments too. Afternoons spent lying on his bed while she read aloud from one of his unfinished manuscripts, teasing him about his "overly dramatic metaphors." Nights where she confessed things she'd never told anyone, her voice breaking in the dark.
"I feel like I'm living a lie," she whispered once, her fingers drawing shapes on his chest. "But when I'm with you, it feels like the only part of my life that's true."
Ethan kissed her forehead, but inside, he felt the weight of her words like a warning.
Because fairytales were beautiful. But they never lasted.