Chapter 3

Back home, I started packing my clothes.

Declan stood in the bedroom doorway. His face was dark. "If you move out now, our parents are going to know we're fighting."

I folded my everyday clothes into the suitcase. "Not a fight. It's a separation."

"Izabella Lane."

When he used my full name, it always came with this forced patience — like he was trying very hard not to lose his temper.

"I'll admit I've been in touch with Molly too much. But you can't twist a normal friendship into something dirty."

I stopped putting my dress into the suitcase."I texted you at three a.m. with stomach cramps. You took fourteen days to reply. That same night, you were on a video call with her for an hour."

Declan frowned.

"There are rules about communications on board. You can't just reply to personal messages whenever you want."

I laid a stack of printed screenshots on the bed.

March 15th.

I had a 102-degree fever and asked if he could just send me one word back.

That same night, Molly posted a call screenshot — 63 minutes.

April 20th.

A pipe burst at home. I rushed back from work and dealt with it alone until past midnight.

Molly posted a reel — Declan showing her the moonlight over the ocean on video.

May 9th.

My dad had a sudden heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. I stood at the billing counter, hands shaking so badly I kept typing the wrong PIN.

Declan was singing "Happy Birthday" to Molly. Someone was whistling in the background.

...

He stared at those pages for a long time before opening his mouth again. "Molly was depressed during that period. Her family situation was bad too. I was afraid she might do something to herself."

I let out a small laugh.

"The day my dad went into surgery, I was afraid too."

He looked up at me. Something in his expression cracked, just for a second.

His phone cut through the silence.

Molly's special ring tone.

Declan picked up and hit speaker.

On the other end, Molly was crying so hard she could barely breathe. "Declan, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have come to the banquet. Izabella cornered me in the bathroom — she said she'd expose me, said she'd make sure I never work in this industry again."

Declan's head snapped toward me. "...you threatened her?"

I kept packing. "The hotel has security cameras."

"No need to check." His voice hardened. "Molly wouldn't lie about something like this."

I stared at him.

Two years. Every time I was hurt, I needed evidence to prove myself. Meanwhile, all Molly needed was tears, and he took it as fact.

Molly was still weeping: "Am I causing too much trouble? I just didn't want you to be alone out there with no one to talk to..."

Declan lowered his voice. "Don't cry. It's not your fault."

After he hung up, his eyes locked onto me, heavy and cold. "Why do you have to go after someone who's already struggling?"

I snapped back calmly. "Does she have a diagnosis?"

"Izabella, do you have to be this heartless?"

I pulled another file from the drawer.

It was a message from last winter.

[Declan, I can barely hold it together. The apartment's freezing, my stomach's killing me. I'm not trying to bother you. I just need to hear your voice.]

I'd sent that message to him and only him.

But that afternoon, Molly had forwarded me a screenshot with a note attached: [Izabella, you REALLY need to see a doctor:)]

I held the screen up to his face.

"You forwarded my message to her?"

Declan's face changed. "I just wanted her opinion on whether you'd been emotionally unstable. She took a few psychology courses back then."

The glass on the nightstand slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

A shard sliced across my palm. Blood came fast.

Declan saw it.

But his first move was picking up his phone and texting Molly.

[She's losing it. Don't be scared.]

I looked down at my hand.

Turns out, when you hit a certain point, even pain could be on a delay.

I pressed a tissue against the wound, grabbed my bag, and walked out.

...

The lights in the ER hallway were blinding white.

Milo Mainse was waiting by the entrance, holding a copy of the court summons. He saw my hand, went to the nurse's station for antiseptic cotton, then handed me the paperwork. "Court date's confirmed. Three days from now, 9 a.m."

I took it.

Milo hesitated. "You sure you don't want to try mediation?"

I looked at the thin cut across my palm. "I'm sure."

My phone buzzed.

A text from Declan.

[you really freaked Molly out. i'm going to check on her tonight. calm down first.]

Milo glanced at it but said nothing.

I screenshotted the message and saved it.

The next morning, Declan called.

"I'm taking Molly to the lighthouse today to shoot some footage. Your mom's follow-up appointment — just go by yourself."

I looked at the appointment slip in my hand. "You promised you'd come with me."

His reply was instant. "It's a follow-up, not surgery. Don't use my family to pressure me."

And my mom heard every word.