*Isabella's POV*
Once he pulled back, he didn't let me go. Instead, in a move that was both surprising and incredibly gentle, he bent his knees and swept me up into his arms. I let out a small, involuntary gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, my body fitting against his like it was made to be there. The last of my tears soaked into his shirt, but I was too drained to be embarrassed anymore.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice a soft, muffled whisper against his neck.
"Shhh," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. He didn't say anything else, just started walking, carrying me deeper into the house, his movements steady and sure. The hallway was dark, but soft lights from the living room cast long, gentle shadows. He walked into the living room and carefully lowered me onto the plush couch, the cushions dipping under our combined weight. He sat down right beside me, close enough that our thighs were touching, and pulled a thick, soft blanket over us, tucking it around my shoulders.
The warmth of the blanket, combined with the solid, reassuring presence of him beside me, made me feel safe for the first time all night. It was a feeling I wasn't used to, a feeling I wasn't sure what to do with.
"Are we watching Friends?" I asked, a weak attempt at normalcy.
"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice quiet, giving me the choice.
"Not really," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Because that means I'll suppress my feelings again, and that's how we got here in the first place." I paused, my eyes widening slightly. Fuck, did I say that aloud?
A low, warm chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Good girl," he said, his voice full of gentle approval. "I'm glad you realized it."
He shifted slightly, turning to face me more fully, his expression serious but kind. "What happened?" he began softly. "I know you want to talk about it. If not, I would just hold you and leave you be, but I know you want to share." He gave me an out, but his eyes told me he already knew my answer.
I took a shaky breath, the weight of what I needed to say pressing down on me. "Yes," I whispered, "you're right." I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "What we did in the car... we hurt Jacob," I began, my voice trembling with nerves.
"When I left that plane, I wanted to tell you I don't want to sleep in your room anymore. To avoid that," I began, my voice trembling as I finally voiced the plan I'd clung to like a lifeline. "But then you came and got on your knee and made promises and declared your love for me... and you basically fulfilled all of the daydreams and fantasies I've had since I began working for you. And then I felt the need to choose, and I chose to have sex with you," I said, the words tumbling out in a messy, shameful rush.
"I know. I have done the same in New York with Jacob. I can't keep it in my pants," I said, the self-loathing thick in my voice.
"It's okay, Isabella," he said, his voice gentle, but I shook my head.
"No, it's not okay," I insisted, the tears starting to well up again. "I always thought it was nothing, just a bit of fun, but when I saw you collapsing because Jacob was shot, everything became clear." I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady myself. "Jacob will be coming in a week. I will stay in my room until then," I said, trying to sound firm, like it was a decision, not a desperate plea
"No, you won't," he said, his tone frustratingly commanding, a stark contrast to his gentle words from moments before.
"Didn't you hear me?" I asked, my voice rising in desperation. "I'm done hurting you both. I can't, it's killing me." The tears were falling again, hot and unstoppable, before I could even think to stop them. "I'm a selfish, petty being, I've always been. That's why nobody ever likes me, that's why I've never had real friends. Nobody wanted to put up with me. I'm never nice and I don't know how to support another human being, the closest I have to girlfriends are some girls that were too high to even remember what a bitch I was," I sobbed, the words a storm of self-hatred I'd kept dammed up for years.
"Isabella, stop it. You are not selfish. Not more than everyone else is. You are not anything you just called yourself," he said, his voice laced with an annoyance that felt protective, not angry.
"But I never do anything good for anyone," I cried, "I think about myself all the time."
"Everyone does that," he said calmly. "Nobody does anything that doesn't benefit themselves. Charity, good deeds... they either seek divine redemption or feel good about themselves."
"I've never looked at it this way, but it doesn't make sense," I sniffled. "I've seen how nice you are with anyone who asks for your help in the office."
"Why do you think you're selfish?" he asked, his tone shifting, becoming more inquisitive, like he was genuinely trying to understand the fucked-up wiring of my brain.
"I do things for other reasons," I admitted, my voice small. "Because when doing things, I feel how much smarter than everyone else. It makes me feel good about myself."
"See, as I told you, everyone has a hidden agenda," he said, pulling me into his warm embrace, his arms a solid, reassuring weight around me. I buried my face in his chest, the fabric of his shirt damp with my tears.
"I thought Cole was your friend," he said after a moment.
"Yep, he was," I said, my voice muffled. "And I ghosted him too. Lousy friend I am."
And he chuckled. A low, warm, genuine chuckle that rumbled through his chest and into my ear. It wasn't a laugh of mockery, but of understanding, of acceptance. And in that moment, it felt like the most loving sound in the world.