The air between them was suffocating.
Isabella's breathing was uneven as she stared at Ethan, her back inches away from the large window. Her only exit.
But he was there, standing in front of her like an unmovable wall.
"You're trembling," Ethan observed, his voice calm. "Are you scared of me?"
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to scream it. But the word stuck in her throat.
Was she scared of him?
Or was she scared of what he made her feel?
She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding. "I'm not scared of you, Ethan."
His gaze darkened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Then why do you keep running?"
Because I don't trust you. Because I don't trust myself around you.
She kept her lips pressed shut. No matter what she said, Ethan always had a way of twisting it into something she didn't mean.
He took a slow step forward, and instinctively, she pressed herself closer to the window, the cold glass against her back making her shiver.
"I won't hurt you," he said, his voice softer this time. "I just want you to listen."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "That's the problem, Ethan. I always listen. And every time I do, I regret it."
His expression didn't change, but something in his posture stiffened.
"I never meant to hurt you," he said. "Everything I've done—it was because I—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
Isabella's fingers curled into fists. "Because you what? Because you love me?"
She saw the hesitation in his eyes. For once, Ethan didn't have a quick, confident response.
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
Could Ethan even understand what love was? Or did he just think love meant possession?
Isabella's chest ached. She needed to get out of here. This time, she couldn't let herself hesitate.
Her eyes darted to the side. There was a decorative vase on a nearby table—heavy enough to do damage.
Could she do it? Could she bring herself to hurt him?
Her hesitation lasted only a second.
She lunged.
Her fingers closed around the vase, and with every ounce of strength she had, she swung it toward him.
The impact never came.
Ethan caught her wrist mid-swing. His grip was tight, but not bruising. His eyes locked onto hers, searching.
Her breath hitched.
Why didn't he stop me sooner? Why did he let me try?
For a moment, the two of them stood frozen. Neither moving. Neither speaking.
Then, Ethan slowly pried the vase from her fingers and set it down on the table.
"You really thought I wouldn't catch you?" he murmured.
She bit the inside of her cheek. "I had to try."
A humorless chuckle left his lips. "You always do."
His grip loosened. She expected him to step back. Instead, he lifted his free hand, brushing his fingers lightly against her cheek.
Isabella flinched.
A flicker of something—pain?—crossed his face.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me," he whispered.
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Then let me go."
Silence.
The words hung between them, heavy and sharp.
And then, finally—Ethan released her wrist.
Her eyes snapped open in shock.
For the first time, he was letting her go.
Or was he?
Could she really believe this was over? Or was he just testing her, seeing if she would come back on her own?
She took a step back. Then another. Ethan didn't move.
Her body screamed at her to run, but something held her in place.
Something she didn't want to name.
"I'm leaving," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ethan didn't stop her.
She turned around. Placed her hands against the window.
And then—she hesitated.
Why?
Why was she hesitating?
Was it because she still didn't trust him?
Or was it because, deep down, she wasn't sure if she wanted to go?
She bit her lip. Hard.
No.
She had to leave.
She pushed open the window, letting the cold night air rush in.
And then, without looking back—she climbed out.