Chapter 701 From This Moment, He Will Love Her Right 3
Isadora was afraid.
She had once loved Avery, and she feared that spending time with him like this would pull her back into feelings she had fought so hard to bury. She dreaded becoming that kind of woman — the kind who couldn't walk away.
She tried to deny it, her words saying no while her eyes betrayed her. Avery didn't believe her for a second.
He held her gaze and spoke slowly, every word deliberate. "Why can't you admit it? You don't really love Tobias. You married him to escape reality, to stop me from hurting you again. But Isadora... if I promised never to make you angry, never to hurt you again, if I treated you the way I did tonight, would you still choose Tobias? Would you still marry him?"
Isadora had no answer.
She shook her head hard, a quick, almost desperate motion, but Avery didn't let her go.
His fingers tightened around hers, steady and unyielding, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her chest tighten — something she couldn't name, but felt all the same.
For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw tenderness there — but that couldn't be right. Avery didn't look at her like that.
Or maybe he did. And maybe it was sadness too.
They'd had years to be together, countless chances. They had wasted them all. What was the point of saying these things now? What good could it possibly do?
She finally pulled free and stepped into the darkness first. By the time she slid into her car, they were separated by two layers of glass. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears; his gaze was as deep and unreadable as the ocean.
She looked at him one last time, then pressed the accelerator.
The white Bentley rolled away slowly. In Avery's rearview mirror, he watched her car until it disappeared. Only then did he turn toward the child seat in the back. Maggie was fast asleep, her small face warm and rosy in the dim light. Something in Avery's chest softened.
"Very soon," he whispered, "You mom will be living with us."
Maggie couldn't hear him. But tonight was beautiful, and she would dream something sweet.
When Isadora pulled into her driveway, the garden lights were on, casting a soft golden glow over the tender shoots of grass just beginning to sprout. She had never thought them beautiful before. Tonight, she found herself bending down, brushing her fingers lightly over their fragile tips.
"Back already?" Lila's voice came from behind her.
Isadora straightened slowly. In the moonlight, she saw her mother's face. Prison had stripped away the polished elegance Lila once carried, replacing it with a gentler calm. Maybe she had simply learned to let go.
"Mom, why aren't you inside? It's chilly out here," Isadora said.
Lila smiled faintly. "It's fine. Look — the stars are out tonight."
She adjusted her cashmere wrap, her smile softening even more. "In prison, I hardly ever saw the stars. Since I got out, I can't help looking... here, there, everywhere. I think everything is beautiful now."
Isadora felt a small ache in her chest. She slipped her arm through her mother's. "From now on, everything will be fine. Wherever you want to go, I'll go with you."
Lila shook her head with a gentle laugh. "You have your own life, your own family. You can't be with me all the time. Between you and your sister, the one I still worry about is you. Serafina is settled. Jacob treats her well, respects her. But you... Tobias is a good man, his family is wonderful, yet I can't shake this feeling that something is about to happen."
Isadora thought of the real reason Tobias had gone abroad. A flicker of unease passed through her too, but she didn't want to burden him with her doubts. She had avoided asking any questions that might open wounds.
"Saturday," she said softly. "He'll be back then. I'll bring him home for dinner."
Lila's shoulders eased. "Good. I'll have the kitchen make chicken soup."
Isadora teased her. "You've gotten soft, Mom."
Lila gave her a sidelong glance. "Only for you."
After a pause, her voice grew quieter. "I was so obsessed with your father back then, I missed so much. I trapped you and Serafina in that bitterness with me. If things hadn't turned out well for you both... I don't think I could have lived with myself."
Her voice broke at the end.
Isadora hugged her, her own eyes stinging. She thought of those dark years. Maybe it was her lack of confidence that had kept her and Avery from ever making it to the end.
Saturday came. Isadora went to the airport herself.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, she saw Tobias. In just a few days, he looked thinner, shadows under his eyes, a heaviness in his face that hadn't been there before. She could read his mood instantly, but still she stepped forward and gave him a light hug.
He pulled her in tightly, holding her as if he couldn't let go.
The terminal was crowded, and she could feel people watching them. She buried her face in his shoulder and asked quietly, "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer. His arms only tightened.
He couldn't tell her that he had remarried his ex-wife. He couldn't tell her that he now loved Isadora, but felt only pity and responsibility toward the other woman. He couldn't say any of it.
This hug was what he had longed for. It would also be the last.
Only when the air between them grew thin did he release her, forcing a smile. "I'm starving. Let's get something to eat."
"My mom made chicken soup," Isadora said with a small smile. "She knew you were coming back."
He hesitated. "This time... just the two of us. Dinner alone."
Her smile faltered.
She was a woman, and women are rarely wrong about these things. She already knew what was coming. Still, for the sake of dignity, she would give them both the grace of an ending.
Tobias booked a hotel.
While she sat in the restaurant and ordered, he went upstairs to the suite, showered, and changed into fresh clothes.
Even in his thirties, with a little care, he was still the picture of charm.
Isadora thought, 'So this is our farewell.'
When he sat down across from her, she smiled faintly. "I ordered a set menu for you."
He froze.
Not an intimate, shared meal — two separate plates. The kind of dinner colleagues might have. She was smiling, but there was a shimmer in her eyes.
Whatever words he had prepared, he swallowed them whole. They both knew.
At 4 p.m., the restaurant was empty except for them. The silence between them was heavy. Tobias barely touched his food. He looked at her, longing in his eyes, words on the tip of his tongue.
Finally, he forced them out. "Isadora, I—"
"You've remarried her, haven't you?" she said quietly, her eyes on the piece of steak on her fork.
Saying it out loud made her feel lighter. She looked him in the eye. "Like you said, we never made our relationship public. We both had a chance to walk away. You chose to stand by her, to give your child a complete family. No one can fault you for that."
She added, "As for us... we'll let it go."
He reached for her hand, but this time she pulled back. "After this meal, go back abroad. She needs you there. If you ever need help, I'll do what I can."
Tobias's voice was low. "Avery's sister — Taylor, the director of the Montague Group hospital — called me herself. She connected me with an international specialist. I agreed to the treatment. Isadora... I know she wouldn't have done that if it weren't for you."
He owed her a marriage. He owed her more than that. He didn't know how to repay it.
"Live well," she said softly. "And let her live well too."
Their eyes met one last time.
She still thought Tobias would have made a good husband — maybe even better than Avery. But they were meant to miss each other. She would not build her happiness on someone else's pain.
Letting go was the most dignified ending.
Tobias left for a flight to Andoria two hours later. Isadora stayed in her seat, staring up at the crystal chandelier.
She was sad, but not because of love. Because of loneliness.
After all these years, she was still alone. Tobias was going back to his wife, and she was still alone. Walking out of the restaurant, she even wondered if she should start dating again. Maybe she'd meet someone right.
Outside, the early spring drizzle had begun, silvering the asphalt streets.
Her high heels — soft lambskin soles — were already ruined by the wet.
When she opened her car door, she paused, staring at the damaged sole. It felt like her life: polished on the surface, but worn through underneath.
She had never truly owned anything. And she had never been able to keep anything.
The sky was gray. The rain kept falling.
A black umbrella appeared over her head. She looked up sharply into a pair of eyes she knew by heart.
Dark. Deep. And filled with something that felt like the sea.