Chapter 5

The car smelled of expensive leather and Isadora's perfume, a scent that used to bring him comfort but now only made his stomach clench. He sat stiffly on the edge of the seat, water dripping from his clothes onto the pristine floor mat.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, his voice flat.

"My townhouse," she replied without looking at him. She was staring out the window, her jaw tight. "I don't want you showing up at my parents' house looking like this. Jordan is there. I won't have you upsetting him."

It was always about Jordan. Everything she did was for Jordan.

"I don't want to go to your house. Just drop me off at the penthouse."

"No," she said simply.

The car pulled up to an elegant brownstone in the Upper East Side. She got out and marched to the door without waiting for him. He remained in the car, a silent protest.

She turned back, her eyes flashing with impatience. "Are you going to make me drag you out again?"

He sighed in defeat and followed her inside.

The house was beautiful, filled with art and expensive furniture, but it felt as cold and impersonal as a museum.

"Everything I am doing," she said, turning to face him in the foyer, "is to protect Jordan. Do you understand? This has nothing to do with you."

She disappeared for a moment and returned with a thick cashmere blanket and a first-aid kit. She tossed the blanket at him.

"Take off your wet jacket."

He did as he was told, wrapping the soft blanket around his shivering shoulders. It was a small comfort in a sea of misery.

He thought about the marriage contract waiting for him. The wedding was in a few weeks. Then he would be free of this, free of her. He just had to survive until then.

Isadora opened the first-aid kit. "Sit down," she ordered, gesturing to a velvet armchair.

He sat. She knelt in front of him, dabbing at the cut on his forehead with an antiseptic wipe. Her touch was rough, clinical.

He could feel the warmth of her hand through the thin cloth. His breath hitched. He tried to pull away.

"Stay still," she commanded, pressing his head back against the chair. She started cleaning the wound, her movements efficient and detached.

"As soon as you're patched up, you're leaving," she said, her voice as sharp as the sting of the antiseptic. "I have a dinner to get to."

A lump formed in his throat. "You really hate me this much?"

She didn't answer. She just continued her work, her face a mask of concentration.

The silence was suffocating. He could feel the warmth radiating from her fingers where they touched his skin. For a crazy, stupid second, it felt like the old days. It felt like she was caring for him.

He knew it was an illusion.

"Issy," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Do you really not remember anything? If you just... if you just don't love me anymore, I can accept that. I'll walk away and never bother you again. But this... not remembering... it's not fair. Not to you, and not to me."

His words hung in the air between them. He saw her hands still. Her gaze, fixed on the cut above his eye, wavered. He saw something in her eyes, a flicker of pain, of confusion. It was the same look she'd had in the jewelry store when she saw her own handwriting.

She was being touched. Some part of her, buried deep, was responding to him.

But then she blinked, and it was gone. He saw the flash of another image in her mind's eye: Jordan, smiling at her, trusting her. The guilt of betraying that trust, even for a second, was too much.

She convinced herself this was another one of Elias's tricks. He was trying to manipulate her, to weaken her resolve.

"I only love Jordan," she said, her voice hard and final, a shield against her own confusion. She finished bandaging his cut and stood up abruptly. "There. You can go now."

He stared at her, the last spark of hope dying in his chest. A bitter smile touched his lips.

"I get it now," he said quietly.

He stood up, letting the expensive blanket fall to the floor. He didn't say another word. He just turned and walked towards the door, his movements stiff and deliberate. He didn't want to be in her presence for a second longer. She was poison.

Isadora watched him go. She watched his straight back, the determined set of his shoulders. She had expected him to plead, to argue, to try another pathetic tactic. She didn't expect this... this finality.

As the front door closed behind him, her elegant living room suddenly felt vast and empty. His words echoed in her ears. 'It's not fair.'

She had assumed he was playing a game of cat and mouse, a desperate man trying to win her back. But his departure felt different. It felt like he had actually given up.

A strange, unsettling feeling crept into her heart. A feeling of loss.

She dismissed it irritably. It was just the feeling of losing an admirer, she told herself. A nuisance, but an admirer nonetheless. Her ego was bruised, that was all.

A sharp pain shot through her head. She pressed her fingers to her temples, grimacing. It happened sometimes when she tried to think too hard about the past, about the blank spaces in her memory.

She stopped thinking. The pain subsided.

She smoothed down her dress and checked her reflection in the hall mirror. Jordan was waiting for her. That's all that mattered.

Elias had just reached the front gate of the townhouse, where Blake's car was waiting to take him back to the penthouse, when a figure lunged out of the shadows.

It was Jordan. His face was contorted with rage.

"You bastard!" he screamed, and his fist connected with Elias's jaw.

Elias stumbled back, caught off guard.

"What the hell is your problem?" he yelled, tasting blood.

"My problem?" Jordan's voice was a high-pitched shriek of fury. "My problem is you! I saw her car bring you here! I watched you go inside her house! I know she touched you!"

His jealousy was a raw, ugly thing. He wasn't angry that Elias was hurt; he was furious that Isadora had shown him a sliver of kindness.

"She was cleaning a cut, you psycho!"

"You're trying to win her back! You're using her pity!" Jordan was completely unhinged. He slapped Elias across the face, once, then twice. The blows were weak, pathetic, but fueled by a terrifying rage. "I won't let you! She is mine!"

He stepped back, breathing heavily. He was holding a small gas can.

Elias's eyes widened as Jordan unscrewed the cap and threw the contents at him. The sharp, chemical smell of gasoline filled the air, soaking his clothes.

"What are you doing?" Elias shouted, his heart pounding with a new kind of fear. This was beyond beatings and threats. This was insane.

Jordan pulled a lighter from his pocket. His eyes were wild, his hand trembling as he flicked it. A small flame danced in the dark.

"I'm going to burn you out of her life for good."