Chapter Three

Sophia Ross’s victory party rented out the entire top floor of a trendy bar on the West Side. The air was thick with champagne, perfume, and the winners’ unmasked exhilaration. I held a glass of soda water and leaned in the farthest corner of the bar; Chloe stood between me and the crowd like a destroyer escort.

“I still don’t get why you came,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at the figure in the center of the room.

“One last time.” I watched the bubbles rise. “I need to confirm a few things.”

Halfway through, the alcohol loosened everyone up. Someone suggested Truth or Dare, and after a round of chanting, the obvious target became the night’s star.

“Sophia! Pick one!” someone yelled.

Sophia covered her mouth as she smiled, playing cute reluctance. Her eyes swept past me with blatant provocation. “That’s not a good idea…” she demurred, but her fingers were already unlocking her phone. Seconds later, she sent a voice message.

Almost immediately, her phone rang. On speaker, the man’s voice was low and clear, edged with a tension that was almost imperceptible:

“You’re drunk? Send me your location.”

Lucas. The same Lucas who told me, “I have an international meeting tonight. Don’t wait up.”

A tide of gasps and snickering rolled through the room. Sophia gave the address, hung up, and her cheeks flushed just enough. “He’s always like this—always fussing.”

The bottle spun again—this time it pointed straight at me.

“Isabella!” the colleague hosting the game said, eyes bright. “Truth or dare?”

I looked at Sophia’s composed expression and the circle of faces hungry for drama. “Truth,” I said.

The card read: “What’s your relationship status right now?”

The noise dipped. My married status wasn’t a secret at the station, but no one had ever pushed it to my face. Kane—the new cameraman who’d always been openly interested in me—was blushing now, staring without blinking.

“I’m married,” I said, hearing my own voice crisp and clear.

The light in Kane’s eyes dimmed. Sophia lifted her drink and took a sip, like she was enjoying a show.

I met her gaze and curved my mouth into an almost perfect smile. Then, word by word, I said:

“But I’m almost divorced.”

The room’s chatter slammed to a stop, like someone hit pause.

The tall figure who’d just walked in through the entrance froze.

Lucas’s eyes locked on me—shock, confusion—then sinking into a dark, heavy anger.

“W-why…?” Kane stammered.

“Feelings broke down.” I shrugged, voice light, as if discussing the weather. “Isn’t that common?”

“Isabella.”

Lucas didn’t speak loudly, but it hit the room like ice dropped into a glass. The whispers froze. He walked toward me, each step like he was walking on a taut wire. The crowd parted automatically.

He stopped in front of me. In the eyes that always calmly assessed everything, a storm I’d never seen before was roiling.

He was angry.

“Lucas.” Sophia chose that moment to speak. She stood and, slightly unsteady, walked over to him, hooking her arm through his with practiced ease. “How did you get here so fast? I told you you didn’t have to come.”

Lucas’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t look at her; his gaze stayed on me, like he was searching my face for any trace of a joke or a tantrum.

“Can you hold my bag for me? It’s so heavy.” Sophia held out her small jeweled clutch, voice sweet and childish.

Every eye in the room fixed on that bag. Time stretched.

Lucas’s jaw tightened. Very slowly, almost rigidly, he shifted his gaze and looked at Sophia.

Then, under the pressure of countless stares and the silent urging in her expression, he reached out and took the bag.

He looked back at me. His expression was impossible to read. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something.

But I’d already turned away and grabbed Chloe, who was still stunned.

“Let’s go. This is boring,” I said. My voice was so steady it surprised even me.

We didn’t look back. We walked through the sudden swell of low conversation and the mixed stares—pity, curiosity—straight to the elevator.

As the doors slid shut, my last glimpse was Lucas being pulled toward the sofa area by Sophia, that glaringly feminine clutch in his hand.

The elevator began to descend. Chloe sucked in a huge breath, like someone surfacing from water.

“Oh my God… Isabella, you… you just…” She grabbed my arm, words tumbling. “He really—he just took it? In front of everyone? That bastard!”

I stared at my blurred reflection in the metal doors and tugged at the corner of my mouth, but I couldn’t even feel the muscle move. So this was what dying inside felt like. Not pain—nothing at all.

“Come on,” I said. “Come with me. I need to pack.”

“Pack? Now? Back to the apartment?”

“No.” I shook my head and pressed the lobby button. “We’ll squeeze into your place for the night. My flight is early tomorrow, and I don’t want to go back.”

Back at Chloe’s cramped apartment—cluttered with camera gear—I opened my small suitcase and mechanically stuffed in the last essentials.

My phone lit up. A text from Lucas, sent ten minutes earlier:

“We need to talk.”

Four words. No explanation. No apology. Not even my name.

I stared for a few seconds, then pressed and held, and deleted it. Then I dragged every way to contact him into my blacklist. Not out of spite—simply because there was no point anymore.

Outside, the city still glittered. The city I’d lived in for four years—where I once thought I’d put down roots—looked unfamiliar now.

Chloe handed me a mug of hot cocoa and asked carefully, “Is everything set up for Eastern Europe? Do you have safety coverage?”

“Yeah.” I wrapped both hands around the warmth. “My point person is an independent producer I’ve worked with before—I trust him. War-zone reporting is dangerous, but their protective gear and evacuation plan are top-tier.” Steam fogged my view. “I just need to get out of here. As far away as possible.”

“I get it.” Chloe sat down beside me and pulled my shoulder into a hug. “Go take back everything that’s yours, Isabella. With your camera, your words. Let him—let everyone—see who you really are.”

I leaned into her shoulder and closed my eyes. Tomorrow would be a different sky.

And the city with Lucas Cole in it—the memories soaked in Sophia’s presence—would be left behind for good.

When the plane took off, I would cut the last thread of attachment.