August 5th, 2025
Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Tokyo - 12:47 AM
The elevator creaked upward with a low, ominous hum, each passing floor dragging Ian further into uncertainty. It was nearing midnight, and every second in that small, metallic box felt like a lifetime.
Ian stood alone, clutching the crumpled paper with the room number scrawled across it. Sweat clung to his brow, his fingers twitching with nerves. The dim, golden lights inside the elevator buzzed overhead as he stared at his reflection in the steel doors, barely recognizing the man looking back.
"This is a mistake," he muttered to himself.
Every inch of him wanted to press the emergency button, to stop the ascent, to vanish before the top floor even appeared.
The thought of seeing Isabelle Ravenglass again gnawed at him like a rusted blade. Was this a trap? A reunion? A reckoning? After what she did to spring him from jail, involving a corrupt detective and a suitcase of yen, Ian couldn't help but wonder—was she any better than Ruth? Would this be the same cycle again, disguised in luxury?
Hell, he should be at the airport right now. Buying a ticket to South Carolina. But he chose a different choice.
The elevator chimed.
Ian's body jerked.
The doors slid open.
A single hallway, long and empty, stretched toward a lavish double door adorned with gold trimmings. No security. No cameras. Just silence.
He stepped out cautiously, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Each step echoed in his skull like a drumbeat of dread. The number on the door matched the one on the paper.
This was it.
He hesitated at the door, heart thudding wildly. Memories slammed into him—her laugh, her perfume, the way she used to hold his hand in the rain. The night she left. The goodbye that didn't feel real. All of it was back, spinning, swirling, suffocating.
His hand reached for the knob.
Then stopped.
He took a step back, shaken.
What if she's like Ruth?
Obsessive. Violent. Charming and manipulative in all the wrong ways. After all, Isabelle did just orchestrate a borderline illegal jailbreak.
That wasn't something a sane, normal woman would do. It didn't matter how elegant she appeared on magazine covers or how angelic her voice once sounded. This - this - could be another storm wearing silk.
But another voice in his head pushed back.
You owe her this. You owe yourself this. Closure. You never said goodbye properly. You never said sorry.
His hand trembled but grasped the handle again.
He turned it.
The door opened.
And Ian Everhart stepped into a world he no longer belonged to.
The penthouse was drenched in silence. Cold, beautiful silence. The lights were dimmed to a soft amber, illuminating only the essentials - the marble floors, the velvet furniture, and the wine bottles glinting in a crystal case. The room reeked of money, old money, the kind that didn't come with warmth or love.
Ian exhaled slowly, trying to center himself. The air was heavier in here.
He walked forward, each step careful, as if breaking the silence would shatter the illusion. He turned a corner and stopped.
Through the wide, open glass doors leading to the balcony, he saw her.
Isabelle Ravenglass.
Standing barefoot in a flowing black slip dress, her hair cascading like waves of ink down her back, Isabelle faced the midnight skyline of Tokyo. The city below glowed like a circuit board of stars, endless and alive.
She held a glass of dark wine, swirling it with idle grace.
Ian's breath hitched in his throat.
She didn't change. If anything, she evolved.
He found his voice, weak, uncertain.
"Isabelle?"
She turned.
Her face was lit by moonlight. Pale, radiant, arresting. A smile crept across her lips as their eyes met.
"Good to see you, darling," she said.
Her voice still had that soft British lilt, smooth as velvet, gentle as rain on a chapel window. But there was something else there now - age, wisdom, something deeper, perhaps darker.
Ian stood still, speechless. The years since their separation now compressed into this one moment.
"You... you look..."
"Beautiful? Breathtaking? Dangerous? I've heard them all," Isabelle teased, stepping forward. She placed the wine glass down on a side table with elegant precision. "But it's been a while since I've heard your voice. Still raspy. Still haunted."
Ian exhaled a humorless chuckle. "Still dramatic, I see."
"Only when it matters."
A pause. Heavy. Dense.
"It was....heartbreaking," Ian finally said. "When our relationship ended.
Isabelle tilted her head. "I saved you. You just didn't understand it then."
"You vanished. No calls. No letters. I woke up one day and you were just... gone."
"Because staying would've destroyed us both," she said, softer now. Her voice was no longer playful. "You were spiraling, Ian. And instead of getting help, you chose to isolate from everyone. From me."
"You drove me away, Ian" She added.
Ian's fists clenched. He couldn't respond. Even if he wanted to, he can't.
"I chose to survive," she corrected. "And maybe... maybe I also chose to wait. For you to find the courage and clarity to seek help for yourself."
He turned away, pacing. His body ached, not from the fight in the van or the jail - but from the storm inside. He hated how her words still reached him. Still mattered.
"So, what is this, huh? Some reunion fantasy? You spend a fortune to bribe some dirty detective and get me out of jail, and what?
"You needed help. I helped. That's it. No fantasy. Just unfinished business."
"Unfinished business?"
"You broke me, too, Ian," she said. Her voice trembled slightly, the facade cracking. "I loved you. And watching you drown with....your goddamn trauma, watching you change, watching you become someone I didn't recognize—it killed me."
Ian looked away.
"And yet you saved me tonight."
"Because part of me never stopped caring. That doesn't mean I'm stupid. I know what you've become. I've seen the viral footage. You're dangerous, angry, and violent. I never know this man.
He met her eyes.
"I didn't start that fight. I defended myself."
"You know that wasn't who I am, Isabelle." He added.
"I know. That's why I'm giving you a chance to start again."
Another pause.
Isabelle stepped forward. Her bare feet made no sound on the cold marble. She stood close now, just inches from him.
"I'm not here to rekindle some lost love. I'm here because you deserved better than what life gave you. Maybe this is closure. Or maybe it's a beginning. That's up to you."
Ian's throat felt dry.
He looked at her, really looked. Beyond the beauty, beyond the wine and satin and rich surroundings. She wasn't Ruth. She wasn't anyone else. She was Isabelle Ravenglass. The woman he once loved. Maybe still did.
And for the first time in a long while...
He didn't feel alone.
He nodded, softly.
"Okay. Let's talk."
Isabelle smiled. Not coy. Not seductive.
But real.
She poured him a glass of wine.
"We've got all night."