*Isabella's POV*
Then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulled away. The loss of his warmth, the sudden absence of his lips on mine, was a physical fucking blow. I stood there, swaying slightly, my hands still clutching the front of his shirt.
"Goodnight, Isabella," he said. His voice was quiet, flat, a stark, brutal contrast to the soul-shattering intensity of the kiss he'd just given me.
And for a second, as I looked into his deep, heavy eyes, I saw it. Another emotion, flickering in the darkness before he could mask it. Regret. A raw, painful regret that hit me like a punch to the gut. Why? What the fuck was there to regret?
He looked back one last time, a long, unreadable glance, before he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous silence of the hallway, leaving me standing there, completely and utterly alone.
I made my way back to my room on autopilot, my feet feeling heavy. As I turned the knob to my own door, I paused. I haven't slept in this room in a while. It felt... foreign. Empty. That kiss had left me so dizzy and conflicted, my mind a complete fucking mess. One minute I was soaring, the next I was being dragged back down by the look in his eyes. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to do something I would regret for the rest of my life.
Brace yourself, Isabella, I thought, my hand still on the doorknob. This is just the first night. I didn't even know how much time Jacob would be gone. A day? A week? A fucking month? And I was trapped here, alone with his brother, the man who kissed me like I was his entire world and then looked at me with nothing but regret.
I went downstairs this morning with a fucking knot in my stomach. Jacob wasn't in the house anymore, and that meant Damien and I needed to keep it professional. Again. I don't even know how that's supposed to work after everything. The house was quiet, a deafening, empty quiet that just made the knot in my stomach tighten. I decided to make myself breakfast; maybe some cereal would do. Something simple, something normal.
But then a sticky note on the fridge caught my eye, the neat, blocky letters an instant giveaway. "Tony is waiting for you outside. See you at work. Damien."
Tony's outside? Damien left already? What the fuck happened?
I was suddenly not hungry anymore, a cold, sinking feeling taking hold. He was avoiding me. After that kiss... he was just going to pretend it never happened and go back to being the Cold CEO. I took the sticky note, scrunched it into a tight, angry little ball, and threw it in the bin.
Fuck. And we were doing so well. Stupid, stupid fucking rules.
I stomped back to my room to change into a formal dress, the scratchy fabric feeling like a costume I was being forced to wear. I got ready for work, my movements stiff and automatic.
I made my way outside, seeing Tony waiting patiently by the car. "Hi, Tony," I greeted, trying to sound cheerful and failing miserably.
"Hi, Ms. Williams," he greeted in return, his tone polite and neutral.
"And Mr. Lancaster?" I asked, unable to stop myself.
"He's at work already, Ms. Williams," Tony said, opening the car door for me. "I came back for you."
When I arrived at work, I noticed it immediately. His office door was closed. Not just ajar, not slightly open, but firmly, decisively shut. A clear "do not disturb" sign without the actual sign. What the fuck is this? What game are you playing today, Mr. Lancaster?
I took a deep breath, the frustration boiling just below the surface of my skin, hot and prickly. I decided to conceal it, to bury it under a thick layer of fake professionalism. I pushed the door open and walked in.
"Morning, Damien," I said, my voice a little too bright, a little too cheerful.
"Isabella," he responded, his voice cool, detached. He stood up from behind his desk, the movement fluid and deliberate, and moved closer until he was directly in front of me, invading my personal space like he owned it.
"You left early," I said, my tone flat, unable to keep the edge of accusation out of my voice.
"I had work to do," he said, his gaze unwavering, his expression a blank mask.
"What work?" I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest.
"The Infi Tech report. I needed a contract, and it wasn't at home," he replied, the excuse sounding so fucking rehearsed.
"Yeah, okay," I said, letting out a small, disbelieving huff. "Did you have coffee?" I asked, changing the subject abruptly.
"I didn't. Could you...?" he asked, his voice trailing off, expecting me to just fall in line.
"In a minute, Mr. Lancaster," I said, giving him a little sarcastic curtsy that was just this side of insubordination before turning on my heel and walking out.
Is he for real? I thought, my blood boiling. One minute he's kissing me like he'll die without me, the next he's back to being the cold, demanding boss who can't even get his own fucking coffee. This was going to be a long day.
I returned a few minutes later, balancing his steaming coffee and a tablet with today's schedule displayed on it. I placed them on his desk with a little more force than necessary, the ceramic clinking loudly against the wood.
"Your 11:00 a.m. meeting will be half an hour late," I said, my voice clipped, all business.
"Okay," he said, not even looking at me, before letting out a long, weary sigh that was like a fucking match to my gasoline-soaked patience.
"Don't look at me like that," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
"Like what?" he asked, finally lifting his gaze, his eyes a cool, unreadable mask.
"Don't pretend with me. You're not like this," I said, my frustration boiling over. "I hate that you've been avoiding me."
"Avoiding? I'm not avoiding you," he responded, his tone flat, dismissive.
"Bullshit," I snapped, the word flying out of my mouth before I could stop it. My eyes widened in horror at my own insubordination. "I mean..." I stammered, trying to backpedal frantically. "Please stop acting like this. The rule is no..." I was saying, trying to sound reasonable, when he cut me off.
"Intimacy," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that finished my sentence for me.