The days following their fight were uneasy.
Isabella came back to him, of course. She always did. She apologized with soft kisses, with whispered words against his neck, with promises that she "just needed space." And though Ethan wanted to demand the truth, he let her slide back into his arms. He always did.
But something had shifted.
Her phone stayed closer to her than ever. She flinched at sudden noises, as if someone might be watching. And though she smiled, laughed, and touched him like before, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that there was another life behind her eyes — one he wasn't allowed to see.
Still, he clung to her. Their stolen hours were all he had, and the more the world outside pressed on him — deadlines, the competition, the shadow of Adrian Gray — the more desperately he needed her. She was supposed to be his refuge. His muse. His fairytale.
Until the day the fairytale cracked.
---
It was late afternoon when Mark, his editor, insisted they attend a networking reception for the writers' competition. Ethan hated those things — the forced smiles, the circling conversations — but Mark wouldn't take no for an answer. "You need to be seen," he'd said. "Shake hands. Smile. Pretend you care."
So Ethan went, already restless, already scanning the crowd for the one man who always made his skin crawl: Adrian Gray. And of course, there he was — charming a cluster of admirers, gesturing with a glass of wine, every word dripping with confidence.
Ethan looked away quickly, heading for the bar. That's when he saw her.
Isabella.
For a split second, he thought his mind was playing tricks. She looked different here — elegant, poised, her hair swept up, a dress that made her look like someone else entirely. Not the woman who slipped into hotel rooms and whispered secrets in the dark, but someone untouchable.
His chest tightened. What was she doing here?
And then it happened.
Adrian's hand slid around her waist with easy familiarity, pulling her close as he leaned down to murmur something in her ear. She tilted her face toward him, her smile polished, practiced, the kind of smile that belonged to a wife beside her husband.
Ethan's world tilted.
The glass in his hand nearly slipped. The air seemed to vanish from the room. He watched, numb, as Adrian Gray — his rival, his tormentor — kissed Isabella softly on the cheek.
No. It couldn't be. It couldn't.
But then Adrian turned slightly, introducing her to someone nearby. His voice carried over the noise of the crowd, casual and proud.
"My wife, Isabella."
The words hit Ethan like a blade. His ears rang. His vision blurred. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Isabella's eyes flickered across the room then — and met his.
She froze.
It was only for a heartbeat, but Ethan saw everything in that look: the fear, the recognition, the silent plea for him not to make a scene.
And then she looked away, her hand tightening on Adrian's arm.
---
Ethan stumbled back from the bar, the floor shifting under his feet. His thoughts spun wildly, clashing with each other.
She's married to Adrian Gray. The man I've been chasing in my nightmares. The man I've compared myself to my whole life. The man I swore I'd defeat.
He felt sick. Betrayed. Humiliated. Every kiss, every whispered promise, every "I'm not happy" — all of it tangled into a knot he couldn't undo.
Had she known who he was all along? Was he just another rebellion in her gilded cage? Had she chosen him because he was Adrian's rival, because it added some twisted thrill to her game?
Or had she… loved him?
The questions tore at him, but there were no answers. Not here. Not while she stood at Adrian Gray's side, smiling like the perfect wife, as though Ethan had never existed.
---
Later that night, back in his apartment, Ethan sat in the dark with his head in his hands. The silence pressed down on him like a weight. Every word Isabella had ever said replayed in his head, twisted now with double meaning.
"I feel like I'm two people."
He laughed bitterly. She hadn't been lying.
And for the first time, Ethan wondered if the fairytale he had fallen into had never been false at all — maybe it had never existed in the first place.