Wednesday evening. Isabelle walked into Marco's office building, arms crossed, trying to act like she wasn't nervous.
Relax, she told herself. You're just here to pick him up. Nothing else.
But the moment she stepped inside, she froze.
A tall, elegant woman stood beside Marco, laughing at something he said. Her hand lightly touched his arm—too casually, too comfortably.
Isabelle felt something twist in her chest.
"Oh… you're here," Marco said, noticing her. His expression softened instantly. "Isabelle."
The woman turned, scanning Isabelle from head to toe with a polite smile. "Hi. I'm Clara."
"Isabelle," she replied shortly.
Clara tilted her head slightly. "Marco's mentioned you."
"Has he?" Isabelle said, raising an eyebrow, glancing at Marco.
Marco cleared his throat. "Uh… yeah. Isabelle's… my girlfriend."
The word came out naturally, but Isabelle didn't miss the way Clara's smile faltered for a split second.
"Oh," Clara said lightly. "I didn't know you were… serious."
Something about her tone made Isabelle's stomach tighten.
"We are," Marco said firmly this time, stepping closer to Isabelle, his hand finding hers without hesitation.
Isabelle's heart skipped—but her eyes stayed on Clara.
"Well," Clara smiled again, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It was nice meeting you. Marco, don't forget our meeting tomorrow."
"Yeah," he nodded. "I won't."
As Clara walked away, Isabelle finally pulled her hand back.
"Meeting tomorrow?" she asked casually, though her voice was slightly tight.
"It's just work," Marco replied. "She's a client."
"Hmm," Isabelle hummed, turning toward the elevator.
"Hey," Marco called, following her. "What's with the tone?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Why would there be something?"
He stepped closer, studying her face. "You're jealous."
She scoffed immediately. "Excuse me? I'm not jealous."
"Really?" he smirked. "Because you've been quiet since we left."
"I'm just… thinking," she said, crossing her arms.
"About?"
"About how… comfortable she seemed with you," Isabelle admitted, then quickly added, "But it doesn't matter. This is fake anyway, right?"
Marco's smirk faded slightly. "Right."
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. Silence filled the space, thick and heavy.
After a moment, Marco spoke again, softer this time. "You know… I didn't like your ex either."
Isabelle glanced at him. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because…" she hesitated. "Because you acted like it mattered."
Marco turned to her fully. "And what if it does?"
Her breath caught. "Marco…"
"What if I don't like seeing other people get close to you?" he continued, his voice low. "What if I don't like the idea of losing you?"
Her heart pounded. "But you can't lose something that was never yours."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Marco went quiet.
The elevator dinged, but neither of them moved immediately.
"Maybe that's the problem," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.
Isabelle looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
He shook his head, stepping out of the elevator. "Nothing. Forget it."
But Isabelle couldn't forget it.
Because for the first time, the lines between fake and real weren't just blurred—
They were disappearing.
And the thought of someone else taking Marco's attention…
It bothered her more than she wanted to admit.