Chapter 82: Do You Like Me?

Isabella's Perspective

My wrist still hurt from where he had grabbed me earlier. Rubbing the reddened skin, I carefully observed Ethan's expression. He was acting strange today—this anger came out of nowhere.

"Does it really matter so much whether I forgive you or not?" I asked softly.

The question hit him like a sledgehammer. His hand immediately released my wrist, dropping to his side. Just like that, all that anger directed at me vanished without a trace. I'd never seen him like this before—as if my words had pierced some secret he'd been keeping inside.

I stepped back, needing to put distance between myself and this man. Ethan was difficult enough normally, and now I couldn't predict what he might do next. Standing there, he made the entire hallway suddenly feel cramped, his emotions fluctuating like a weather forecast, leaving me completely bewildered.

I looked directly into his eyes and was startled by what I saw—those eyes burned with an intense heat, staring straight at me.

"Oh my God, do you..." I held my breath, hardly believing my own suspicion, "like me?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. God, what was I saying? My heart started racing, a wave of panic rising in my chest. If Ethan really had those kinds of feelings for me, wouldn't that be an absolute disaster? His father married my mother. We lived under the same roof. He was one of New York's elite, while I was... nobody special.

His reaction told me everything. His face darkened, but not before I caught that momentary flash of guilt in his eyes—like I'd caught him in a secret he wouldn't even admit to himself. His breathing became erratic. When he spoke, his voice no longer carried that usual tone of complete control.

"You're imagining things," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Without looking back, he turned and walked back to the dining room, every step tense and rigid.

I stood frozen, watching him leave. Had I really seen what I thought I saw, or was I just projecting? Whatever the case, the rest of our time at the table was unbearably awkward, completely silent. He didn't snap at me like usual, but this silence was even harder to endure—the air filled with words neither of us would speak.

Weekend sunlight streamed warmly into my small guest room at the Black family home. Laughter and conversation drifted up from the garden below, where Olivia was hosting some kind of party, but I preferred hiding up here with my books. The design competition deadline was approaching quickly, and after that bizarre meal with Ethan, I just wanted to study quietly and do something predictable.

I was deeply focused on a chapter about sustainable design when someone knocked on the door. Sighing, I put my book down and went to answer.

Olivia stood at the doorway, as over-the-top as ever, smiling brightly, though her smile lacked any warmth.

"Olivia, do you need something?" I asked politely, while internal alarm bells immediately started ringing. Olivia seeking me out never led to anything good.

"Isabella, could you help me with a small favor?" She pretended to be nice, which only made me more suspicious of her motives.

"I'm reviewing material for my design competition. Maybe someone else could help you?" I tried to be both tactful and firm.

Her smile instantly disappeared. "I haven't even finished explaining, and you're already refusing me?" Every word carried a sting.

"I really am busy," I insisted. Confrontations with Olivia never ended well, but painful lessons had taught me not to let her manipulate me too easily.

She crossed her arms. "This is something only you can help me with."

That statement completely confused me. What could I possibly do that others couldn't?

"My friends downstairs want to meet Ethan," she explained, sounding slightly annoyed. "I promised them he would make an appearance, but he's not answering my calls. I need you to get him to come down."

This was so ridiculous I almost laughed out loud. "If it were Julian, I might be able to help. But Ethan? Keep dreaming."

"If it were Julian, would I need your help?" Olivia snapped. "I could just drag him down myself. But Ethan..." She let out a frustrated grunt. "I've been boasting to my friends. If he doesn't show up, I'll lose face."

"Can't help you," I said firmly.

Her expression changed, becoming calculating. "Do you have Ethan's number in your phone?"

"Yes," I answered, immediately regretting my honesty.

"Let me use it," she extended her hand for my phone.

"Not a chance," I refused.

What happened next happened so quickly I couldn't react. Olivia shoved me hard—I stumbled back and hit the wall, a sharp pain shooting up my spine. By the time I regained my senses, she had my phone in her hand, using my face to unlock it.

I lunged forward. "Olivia, stop!"

But she pushed me away again and locked herself in the bathroom. I pounded on the door, feeling both angry and helpless. If I weren't living under their roof—if my mother's marriage didn't force me to swallow my pride—I wouldn't have let her off so easily.

After futilely banging on the door for two minutes, Olivia emerged looking triumphant, handing my phone back to me as casually as if she'd borrowed a pencil.

"Don't message my brother for the next five minutes," she warned me, her smile barely concealing the threat. "Or you'll regret it."

I snatched the phone back, quickly checking what she had done. All my chat history with Ethan had been deleted.

"What did you send him?" My heart tightened.

"Just said I'm having a party in the garden and hope you can come by. Nothing major." She shrugged indifferently, but I didn't believe her for a second.

After she left, I sat on the bed staring at the empty message field. Should I tell Ethan the truth? I started typing: That last message was from Olivia, not me. But my finger hesitated over the send button. What if Olivia checked my phone again? What if telling Ethan only made everything worse?

I deleted the draft and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. No matter what I did, I would lose. It had always been like this in the Black family's games—I was just a pawn, never a player.

I barely had time to register the angry footsteps before the door was flung open with a bang that made me jump. Then it slammed shut with equal force.

I sat up abruptly, my heart racing, to see Ethan standing there, his face filled with anger. His presence made the entire room feel oppressive, and I suddenly felt incredibly small.

I knew it! That damn Olivia was trying to set me up all along, and now she'd completely thrown me under the bus!

"E-Ethan," I stammered his name, too shocked to form a complete sentence.

In three large strides, he was in front of me, grabbing my arm and pulling me up from the bed. His eyes darkened with anger, his face inches from mine.

"Isabella," he said, his words cutting like frost, "you dare play games with me?"