Liam disappeared on a business trip to Tokyo the next day.
No warning. No briefing. Just a terse email at 6:00 AM: In Tokyo for the week. Forward urgent matters only. - LB
Isabella stared at the email, something uncomfortable twisting in her chest. He'd left without a word. Without even mentioning it the night before in the penthouse.
But why would he? She was his secretary. His contract wife. Not someone who deserved explanations.
The week passed slowly. The office felt different without Liam's oppressive presence—lighter somehow, but also emptier. Isabella caught herself glancing at his closed office door multiple times a day, expecting him to emerge with cold demands.
He never did.
She threw herself into work, managing his calendar, handling his emails, keeping everything running smoothly in his absence. Proving she was competent. Proving she was worth keeping.
Proving something to herself, maybe.
On Friday afternoon, Isabella was reviewing contracts when the elevator chimed.
Liam stepped out, looking exhausted but impeccably dressed as always. His suit was wrinkled—the first time she'd ever seen anything about him less than perfect—and there was a tension in his shoulders that suggested the trip had been difficult.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away.
"Ms. Hart," he said, his voice flat and professional as he passed her desk.
"Mr. Black. Welcome back." Isabella kept her tone equally neutral. "Your calendar for next week is ready, and I've compiled the—"
Liam dropped something on her desk without stopping. A small box, elegantly wrapped in gold paper with Japanese characters printed on the side.
"A souvenir," he said without looking at her. "The hotel gave two."
He continued walking toward his office.
Isabella stared at the box, her heart doing something complicated and painful.
"Mr. Black, you didn't have to—"
"It's nothing. Just clutter." His office door closed before she could finish.
Just clutter.
Isabella looked down at the elegant box, her hands trembling slightly as she picked it up. It was heavier than expected, luxurious in a way that suggested "hotel gift" was a massive understatement.
She glanced at Liam's closed door, then carefully unwrapped the box.
Inside, nestled in silk, was a pen.
But not just any pen. A Namiki Emperor fountain pen, hand-lacquered with intricate Japanese maple leaves in autumn colors—deep red, burnt orange, golden yellow. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each detail perfect. The kind of pen that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
The kind of pen that wasn't a throwaway hotel gift.
The kind of pen someone chose deliberately.
Isabella's breath caught. She lifted it carefully, feeling the perfect weight, the smooth lacquer, the way it seemed to fit her hand like it had been made for her.
There was a small card in the box, embossed with the hotel name. She turned it over.
Nothing. No message. No explanation.
Just the pen.
Isabella sat there for a long moment, staring at this beautiful, expensive, supposedly meaningless object.
The hotel gave two.
Liar.
Hotels didn't give away thousand-dollar fountain pens. And even if they did, Liam wouldn't keep two of anything. He was ruthlessly efficient, discarding everything unnecessary.
So why had he brought this back?
Why had he given it to her?
And why had he lied about it?
Isabella carefully placed the pen back in its box, her throat tight with emotions she couldn't name.
It wasn't a gift. He'd made that clear. It was just clutter. Just something he didn't want.
But she treasured it anyway.
That evening, Isabella sat at her desk in the penthouse, working on personal emails. The pen—Liam's pen, the one he claimed meant nothing—sat beside her laptop.
She picked it up, testing the weight again, admiring the craftsmanship. Then, almost without thinking, she began writing.
The ink flowed like silk across the paper. Smooth, effortless, perfect. Like the pen had been waiting for her to use it.
Isabella wrote her mother's name. Then her own. Then, before she could stop herself: Isabella Black.
Her married name. The one no one knew. The one that felt like both a treasure and a burden.
She stared at the words, written in beautiful ink from a beautiful pen given to her by a man who claimed it was nothing.
"It suits you."
Isabella jumped, her heart leaping into her throat.
Liam stood in the doorway of the shared office space, still in his work clothes, his expression unreadable.
"I—I'm sorry, I was just—" Isabella started to put the pen down.
"I said it suits you." Liam moved further into the room, his eyes on the pen in her hand. "The color. The style. It suits you."
Isabella's heart hammered. "You said the hotel gave two."
"I did say that." Liam's jaw tightened slightly.
"But they didn't."
"No." The admission was quiet, almost grudging. "They didn't."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.
"Why?" Isabella asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Liam was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "I saw it in a shop window. The colors reminded me of..." He stopped, his expression closing off. "It doesn't matter. Use it or don't. It's just a pen."
He turned to leave.
"Liam—"
He stopped. Isabella realized too late she'd used his first name. Broken the rule. Crossed the line.
"Thank you," she said softly. "It's beautiful."
Liam's shoulders tensed. He didn't turn around. "Don't read too much into it, Ms. Hart. It's just a pen."
He left, his bedroom door closing with quiet finality.
But Isabella sat there, holding the pen that was "just a pen," knowing with absolute certainty that it was so much more than that.
It was the first crack.
The first real sign that underneath all his coldness, all his control, all his insistence that this was just business...
Liam Black might actually care.