Isabella:Love And Vengeance

The day passed like any other. Work was a whirlwind of orders, chatter, and the smell of coffee filling the air. Yet something felt off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but a nagging feeling tugged at the back of my mind.

Alexander hadn't come to the café today. That wasn't unusual in itself; his work often kept him busy, and we had gotten used to finding time for each other when we could. But even when he couldn't visit, he would always text or call. Today, there was nothing.

As I walked home, the cool evening air did little to soothe my unease. The city lights shimmered, cars zipped past, and the distant hum of life carried on around me. Still, I couldn't shake the growing knot in my stomach.

---

Once home, I dropped my bag on the couch and kicked off my shoes. My phone was in my hand almost immediately, and I dialed Alexander's number, eager to hear his voice.

The call rang once, twice, three times... then went to voicemail.

I frowned, staring at the phone. That was strange. He always answered my calls, or at least sent a quick message if he couldn't talk.

I tried again. And again. Each time, the call rang out with no response.

Anxiety began to claw at my chest. "What's going on?" I muttered to myself, pacing the living room. I tried to convince myself that he was probably caught up in something—an important meeting, a late-night client call—but the silence on his end felt deafening.

By the time the clock struck ten, I was on edge, my mind spiraling with worst-case scenarios. Just as I was about to try calling him one more time, there was a knock at the door.

---

I rushed to open it, relief washing over me as I saw Alexander standing there. But my relief quickly turned to confusion. He looked tired, his tie slightly loosened and dark circles under his eyes.

"Alexander," I said, stepping aside to let him in. "Where have you been? I've been calling you all evening."

He walked past me into the apartment, running a hand through his hair. "I've been busy, Isabella. Work has been... overwhelming."

"I get that," I said, following him into the living room. "But you could've at least texted me. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

He let out a heavy sigh, sinking onto the couch. "I didn't mean to worry you, but I've had a lot on my plate. It's not like I'm ignoring you on purpose."

---

His tone was clipped, and it stung. I crossed my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. "Alexander, I'm not asking for much. Just a quick message to let me know you're okay. Is that too much?"

He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing. "Isabella, I don't need you to keep tabs on me every second of the day. I'm dealing with enough as it is without you breathing down my neck."

His words hit me like a slap. "Breathing down your neck? Is that what you think I'm doing? I'm just trying to be here for you, Alexander."

He stood abruptly, his frustration evident. "You don't understand, Isabella. I'm under so much pressure right now, and all this—" he gestured between us—"it's just... too much."

I stared at him, my heart pounding. "What are you saying?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "I'm saying I need a break. From everything."

---

The room seemed to tilt. "A break?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. "What does that even mean? From what? From me?"

"I don't know," he muttered, avoiding my gaze. "I just need space."

"Space?" I felt a wave of anger rising, overpowering the hurt that had settled in my chest. "After everything we've been through, you think you can just say you need space and that's it? What about us, Alexander? What about everything we've built?"

He didn't respond, and the silence was deafening.

"Look at me," I demanded, stepping closer to him. "If you're going to say something like that, at least have the decency to look me in the eye."

Finally, his gaze met mine, and what I saw there made my stomach churn. Guilt. Avoidance. Something was wrong—something he wasn't telling me.

"Is there someone else?" I asked, my voice trembling.

His eyes widened briefly before he shook his head. "No, Isabella. There's no one else. I swear."

"Then why?" I pressed, my voice breaking. "Why are you doing this?"

---

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned away, his shoulders slumping.

"Get out," I said suddenly, my voice firm despite the tears streaming down my face.

He froze. "Isabella—"

"Get out!" I shouted, shoving him toward the door. "If you need space so badly, then go. Take all the space you need."

He turned to look at me, his expression pained, but I didn't let him speak. I pushed him out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

---

As soon as he was gone, I collapsed onto the couch, sobs wracking my body. I couldn't believe what had just happened. Alexander had always been my safe haven, my constant in a chaotic world. And now, he felt like a stranger.

I replayed the argument over and over in my mind, searching for answers. What had gone wrong? Was it something I did? Or was there something he wasn't telling me?

Doubt began to creep in, filling the cracks in my heart. For the first time, I questioned Alexander's loyalty—questioned whether the perfect relationship I thought we had was as perfect as it seemed.

But even as my mind raced with questions, one thought stood out above the rest: If Alexander wanted space, I would give it to him. But I wasn't sure how much more of myself I could give before there was nothing left.