*Isabella's POV*
I practically fled back to my office, my footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. My desk, my little island of supposed sanity, was right outside his. What an unfortunate fucking time to date the boss and be his assistant. It felt less like an office and more like a prison, with his door a constant, looming reminder of my monumental fuck-up. I could practically feel him in there, a ghost on the other side of the wall, and the weight of it was suffocating.
"I need a coffee," I sighed, the words a desperate puff of air. I couldn't sit there. I couldn't just stare at my computer screen and pretend like everything was okay. I stopped outside my office door, changing direction and heading towards the break room, craving the bitter, familiar comfort of coffee.
Only to find Cole and Laura in the middle of a heated argument. Shit. Cole was pacing, his hands gesticulating wildly, while Laura stood with her arms crossed, her face a mask of fury. Their voices were low and sharp, but the anger was a toxic cloud filling the small room. That doesn't look too good. For fuck's sake, as if I didn't have enough drama in my life. I stood frozen in the doorway, wondering if I could just back away slowly and pretend I never saw a thing.
Before I could even turn around and give them some privacy, Laura shoved past me, her shoulder bumping mine hard. Was she crying? I caught a glimpse of her red face, before she disappeared down the hall. Shit.
I walked up to Cole just as he let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Is everything okay?" I asked, my voice hesitant.
"Mind your own business," he spat, the words sharp and unexpected, like a slap in the face.
"Wow, you don't have to be rude," I countered, stung by his tone.
"Go back to your boss and leave me alone," he shot back, his eyes flashing with an anger I'd rarely seen directed at me.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked, my own defensiveness starting to rise. "I only wanna help," I said, my voice softening. "Maybe you want to talk about it?"
"Nope," he said, a nasty, little smirk twisting his lips. It was a look that made my stomach clench. "Not before you tell me all about your... business with the big boss." He retorted, his voice dripping with a suggestive sarcasm that made my blood run cold.
My eyes widened in shock. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Did he see us? Just now? Holy shit. But I didn't hear the door open... or maybe I was too busy getting my brains fucked out to notice a goddamn thing. The panic that hit me was so sharp and so sudden, I felt like I was going to be sick.
"I've seen how he looks at you lately," he said, his smirk now a full-blown grin. "He's reciprocating your eye-fucking stares."
Phew. He didn't. A wave of relief washed over me. He didn't see anything. He's just being the nosy bastard he was.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, my voice flat, a terrible liar.
"Oh, come on," he pressed, leaning against the counter. "Something happened. I have an eye for these things. Are you two fucking behind his brother's back?" he asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity.
Wow. He was right on the fucking nose. But so completely, utterly out of context.
"Oh, shut the hell up," I snapped, my defenses kicking into high gear. "I'm not the one screwing a married woman." The words were out before I could stop them, a low, dirty blow.
He shushed me, his eyes widening in panic, his head whipping toward the door. "Jesus Christ, Isabella!"
"I'm leaving now," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door. "Or better yet, you leave. I want coffee and some fucking silence." I gave him a final shove out into the hallway.
He rolled his eyes, a dramatic, teenage-level gesture. "You bitch," he said, storming off.
And I just stood there, in the empty breakroom, and laughed.
After work, the silence in the back of the car was a fucking physical thing. It was heavy and suffocating, pressing down on me, making the expensive leather seats feel like a cage. Damien sat beside me, a rigid, unreadable silhouette, staring straight ahead. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, a smear of colour that meant nothing. All I could focus on was how all I could see is Jacob's face on Damien's besides the whole twin thing.
"You should have just let me take a cab," I sighed, breaking the silence. My voice sounded small and tired even to my own ears. I couldn't stand this, this forced proximity after what we'd done.
"Out of the question," he said, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument. Typical Damien.
"But I don't want to be in this car with you," I retorted, my voice sharper this time, a flash of the anger I'd been suppressing all day. I turned to look at him, my glare a challenge.
He finally turned his head, his eyes meeting mine. A flicker of something crossed his features before he masked it. "Who's childish now?" he countered, rolling his eyes in a way that made me want to slap him.
I snapped my head back to face the window, my jaw tight. Fucking bastard. He was right, of course. I was being childish, lashing out because I didn't know how else to deal with the monumental fuck-up we'd created. The guilt over Jacob was a sour taste in my mouth. And here I was, trapped in a luxury car with the twin, my boyfriend, the man who had bent me over his desk and made me forget my own goddamn name.
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*Damien's POV*
I hate this. I fucking hate this silence. So thick, so suffocating. My gaze is fixed on her, on the profile of her beautiful face illuminated by the passing streetlights. I hate how her luscious mouth, the same mouth that kissed me with such passion, such fervour just hours ago, is now set in a pout.
I hate the sad, pathetic smile that plays on her lips, a masterpiece of misery that she thinks I can't see.
This is because of Jacob.
I hate that this is because of Jacob. Because of him. Because I share her with him. Because he made us promise not to be intimate without him, a promise I shattered the moment I heard her whisper that fucking word. Because of him, that mouth... that mouth I adore so much, that mouth is not mine to claim now. It's a mouth in mourning, and I am the cause of its grief.
Most of all, I hate how open she is with him, so carefree. I've seen it. The way she laughs, the way she teases, the way she looks at him like he hung the fucking moon. And how much he must mean to her, for her to be acting this way. This profound sadness isn't just about breaking a rule; it's a betrayal of a heart. I'm her boyfriend too yet i feel like I am the other man. I am the antagonist in their love story instead of a protagonist in ours. And I have never hated anything more.