Isla's POV
I'm still staring at the lawyer's email when I hear his key in the door.
Ethan's home. At 11 PM. Not "working late" after all.
My laptop snaps shut so fast I almost break it. My heart pounds like a drum as I hear him moving around in the entryway, taking off his shoes, hanging up his coat.
"Isla? You still awake?" His voice sounds normal. Casual. Like he didn't just postpone our wedding behind my back.
"Yeah," I manage to say. My voice sounds surprisingly steady. "Just finishing some work."
He walks into the living room and I see him clearly for the first time since this morning. He looks tired, but there's something else in his expression. Guilt? Or maybe just annoyance that I'm still awake.
"You should get some rest," he says, not quite meeting my eyes. "Big week ahead."
Big week. Our wedding week. The wedding he just canceled without telling me.
I want to scream at him. I want to throw the laptop at his head and watch it shatter. I want to make him hurt the way I'm hurting.
But instead, I smile. "You're right. I'm heading to bed now."
"Good." He kisses my forehead—a quick, absent gesture that feels like a pat on a dog's head. "Goodnight."
I watch him walk to his office instead of our bedroom. Probably to call Vivienne. Probably to tell her how he postponed the wedding like she asked him to.
I wait until his office door closes. Then I grab my laptop and phone and lock myself in our bedroom.
The clock reads 11:47 PM.
I sit on the edge of our bed—the bed we've shared for two years—and I start making lists in my head.
The wedding is in four days. Saturday. Exactly 96 hours from now.
Two hundred guests have already confirmed. My Aunt Marie and cousin Sophie flew in from California yesterday and are staying at a hotel downtown. They used their savings for those plane tickets.
The venue is paid for. The flowers are ordered. The cake is made. The photographer is booked.
And none of it matters because the groom doesn't want to marry me.
My phone buzzes. It's Marcus: "ISLA ANSWER ME. Are you okay?? I'm coming over."
I text back quickly: "Don't. Ethan's here. I'll call you tomorrow."
His response is immediate: "If you don't call by 9 AM, I'm calling the police."
Despite everything, I almost smile. Marcus has been my best friend since college. He's the only person who knows the real me—the me I hide from everyone else.
The clock ticks to midnight. Three days until the wedding now.
I could confront Ethan right now. March into his office and demand answers. But I already know what he'll say.
"It's complicated, Isla."
"I care about you so much."
"Vivienne is just a friend now, you're overreacting."
"The wedding isn't canceled, just postponed. We need more time to be sure."
All lies wrapped up in pretty words that sound reasonable. And if I push too hard, he'll turn it around on me. Make it seem like I'm the crazy, jealous fiancée who doesn't trust him.
I've watched him do it in business meetings. He's a master at making people doubt themselves.
But I'm not doubting myself anymore. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. I know what that email said.
The real question is: what do I do about it?
I could cancel the wedding publicly. Send an email to all the guests. Post something on social media. Tell everyone the truth about Ethan Blackwell and his first love.
But that would destroy both of us. The media would have a field day. Every news outlet would want my story. Every reporter would start digging into my background.
And they'd find out who I really am.
Isla Monroe isn't just some quiet girlfriend who got dumped. Isla Monroe is the secret founder of Lumière Couture—the fashion company that's been revolutionizing the industry for five years.
I built that empire from nothing after my parents died. I hid my identity because I wanted my designs to speak for themselves, not my tragic backstory. Only Marcus and my lawyer know the truth.
If I make a public scene about this breakup, reporters will investigate me. They'll discover my company. They'll expose everything I've worked so hard to keep private.
My whole carefully constructed life will explode.
The clock reads 1:23 AM now. Two hours of sitting here, thinking in circles.
I can't marry him. That's the only thing I know for certain.
But I also can't stay here and watch him choose Vivienne while pretending everything is fine.
At 2:47 AM, I open my laptop again and start searching. Hotels. Train tickets. Bank account transfers.
By 3:00 AM, I've made my decision.
I'm going to disappear.
Not forever. Just long enough to figure out what comes next. Long enough to not be here when Ethan finally works up the courage to break up with me himself.
I'll leave in the morning after he goes to work. I'll pack only what I need. I'll leave a note so he doesn't call the police.
And then I'll be gone before he can feed me more lies.
My hands shake as I book a hotel room across town under a fake name. Then I transfer money from our joint account into my private business account. It's my money anyway—I put it there from my company profits.
The clock hits 3:30 AM and I hear Ethan's office door open. His footsteps move down the hallway toward our bedroom.
I quickly close my laptop and pretend to be asleep.
He slips into bed beside me, smelling like cologne and lies. He doesn't try to hold me. He just lies there on his side of the bed, as far from me as possible without falling off.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into the darkness.
I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady.
"I never meant for any of this to happen," he continues, his voice barely audible. "You're a good person, Isla. You deserve better than this. Better than me."
Finally, something true.
"I'm going to fix this," he says. "I just need a few more days to figure out how."
A few more days. He wants a few more days to decide between me and Vivienne. Like I'm an option in a multiple-choice test.
I lie there in the dark, listening to him breathe, and I feel nothing. No love. No anger. Just empty.
At 6:00 AM, his alarm goes off. He gets up, showers, dresses for work. I stay perfectly still, pretending sleep.
Before he leaves, he stands in the doorway for a long moment. I can feel him staring at me.
"I do love you," he says quietly. "I hope you know that."
Then he's gone.
I count to one hundred after I hear the front door close. Then I jump out of bed and start packing.
One suitcase. That's all I'm taking. Clothes, toiletries, my laptop, important documents. Everything else stays.
I'm almost done when I see the wedding dress hanging in the closet. The one Ethan picked. The one I tried on just two days ago.
Two days. It feels like a lifetime ago.
I grab the dress and spread it across the bed. Then I take a marker from Ethan's office and write across the white fabric in big, black letters:
"SHE CAN HAVE THIS TOO."
Childish? Maybe. But it makes me feel better.
I'm zipping up my suitcase when my phone rings. Unknown number again.
My hand hovers over the answer button. Last time an unknown number texted me, it was about the lawyer's email.
I answer it. "Hello?"
"Ms. Monroe?" A woman's voice, cold and professional. "This is Jennifer Chen, Mr. Blackwell's assistant."
My blood goes cold. Why is his assistant calling me from a different number?
"I'm calling to inform you that Mr. Blackwell has asked me to schedule a meeting with you for tomorrow morning at 9 AM. He says it's urgent and concerns your upcoming wedding."
Tomorrow morning. He's going to break up with me officially. Probably rehearsed the whole speech with Vivienne last night.
"Tell him I'll be there," I say, my voice like ice.
"Excellent. Also, Ms. Monroe..." Jennifer pauses. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but you've always been kind to me. Mr. Blackwell has another meeting scheduled right before yours. At 8 AM. With Vivienne Hart and a lawyer."
My heart stops. "A lawyer?"
"I'm not supposed to know what it's about," Jennifer says quickly. "But I overheard him on the phone yesterday. Something about making things official."
Making things official. With Vivienne. And a lawyer.
"Thank you, Jennifer," I whisper.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Monroe. You deserved better."
She hangs up.
I stand in the middle of our bedroom, suitcase packed, wedding dress ruined, and I realize what's happening.
He's not just breaking up with me tomorrow.
He's planning to announce his engagement to Vivienne.
He's replacing me before he's even officially done with me.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ethan: "Looking forward to our talk tomorrow. There's something important I need to tell you."
I bet there is.
I look around our apartment one last time. At the life I thought we were building. At the future that never existed.
Then I grab my suitcase, walk out the door, and don't look back.
But as I'm getting into my Uber, my phone buzzes one more time.
It's an email. From Vivienne Hart's personal account. To me.
The subject line makes my hands shake: "The Wedding Gift I'm Giving Ethan."
I click it open.
There's just one line of text and a photo attachment:
"Thanks for keeping him warm for me. I'll take it from here."
The photo is of her hand wearing my engagement ring.
My ring. The one I've been wearing for six months.
But it's on her finger now.
Which means Ethan already gave it to her.