Chapter 111
Isabella's POV
"I'm fine," I said, and even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow. "Just needed a moment."
Adrian's grip on my waist tightened fractionally. "The evening's been difficult. We can leave early if you'd like."
We. As if we were a unit. As if what I wanted mattered to him beyond maintaining the illusion.
I looked up at him, really looked at him, and saw what I'd been trying not to see for weeks now: Adrian Winthrop didn't love me. He probably never would. I was convenient, appropriate, safe. Everything Evelyn Valentine could never be.
And I'd known that, hadn't I? On some level, I'd always known. Had told myself it didn't matter, that love could grow, that partnership and respect were enough to build a marriage on.
But watching him torture two women for hurting Evelyn—women who'd claimed to be acting on my behalf—had stripped away my last illusion. Adrian would burn down the world for Evelyn Valentine. For me, he'd offer careful kindness and dutiful affection and nothing more.
I deserved more than that.
"Isabella?" His voice held a note of concern now, his mask slipping just enough to show genuine worry. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm sure," I said, and this time I meant it. Because I'd just made a decision that felt like stepping off a cliff into empty air. Terrifying and liberating in equal measure.
I was going to break our engagement.
Not tonight. Not in front of all these people, at a party meant to celebrate our future together. I wouldn't humiliate him like that, wouldn't give the gossips that kind of ammunition.
But soon. Before this went any further. Before I woke up one day as Mrs. Adrian Winthrop and realized I'd spent my entire life competing with a ghost.
"Dance with me?" Adrian asked, already guiding me toward the dance floor. Not really a question, I noticed. Just the polite phrasing of an expectation.
I let him lead me into a waltz, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back. He was an excellent dancer—of course he was. Adrian Winthrop was excellent at everything that mattered in our world. Excellent at being the dutiful son, the brilliant businessman, the perfect gentleman.
Just not excellent at loving me.
"You're quiet," he observed, his thumb tracing absent circles against my spine. A gesture of affection that probably looked genuine to everyone watching. Maybe it even was genuine, in its way. Adrian did care about me. Just not enough.
"Tired," I said. "It's been a long evening."
"It has." His gaze drifted over my shoulder, and I knew—knew—he was thinking about Evelyn. About whether she was safe, whether Julian would take care of her, whether she was still shaking from her near-drowning.
Whether she was thinking of him.
The music swelled around us, and I let myself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like if Adrian looked at me the way he looked at Evelyn when he thought no one was watching. If he smiled at me with that unguarded warmth instead of careful politeness. If he touched me like I was something precious instead of something fragile that might break if he wasn't careful enough.
But he didn't. He wouldn't. And I was done pretending that was enough.
When the song ended, Adrian kissed my temple—another perfect gesture for the cameras, for the guests, for his family. "Thank you for tonight," he said quietly. "For everything. I know it wasn't easy."
He had no idea how right he was.
"Of course," I said, because what else was there to say? I saw you almost drown two women tonight, and I realized you'll never love me the way you love your stepmother? Not exactly appropriate cocktail party conversation.
Elizabeth Winthrop appeared at my elbow, all warm smiles and congratulations. "You two look perfect together," she said, squeezing my hand. "I'm so happy Adrian found you. You're exactly what this family needs."
Exactly what this family needs. Not what Adrian needed. Not what I needed. What the family needed. Another piece of the Winthrop empire, carefully selected and slotted into place.
I smiled at her, thanked her, said all the right things. Played my part perfectly because I'd been trained for this my entire life. The Russell family hadn't raised me to make scenes or cause trouble. We were professionals at maintaining appearances.
But underneath the smile, underneath the gracious acceptance of yet another congratulation, I was already planning my exit. Already composing the speech I'd give Adrian when I returned his ring. Something about timing, about not being ready, about wanting different things. All true, in their way. Just not the whole truth.
The whole truth was too complicated, too painful, too likely to cause exactly the kind of scandal both our families had spent generations avoiding.
So I'd lie. Kindly, gently, but I'd lie. And Adrian would accept it because he was too much of a gentleman to push, and because—if I was honest—he'd probably be relieved. Relieved to be free of the obligation to pretend. Relieved to wait for Evelyn without the guilt of a fiancée.
Relieved that I'd done the hard part for him.
The party finally wound down around midnight. Guests began filtering toward the tenders, calling for their drivers, making plans for brunch tomorrow to continue celebrating. Adrian walked me to the boat, his hand at my elbow, his posture protective.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, helping me aboard. "We should discuss the engagement announcement for the Times."
"Of course," I said, even though I knew there wouldn't be an announcement. Not now. Not ever.
He kissed my cheek—chaste, appropriate, utterly devoid of passion—and stepped back as the tender pulled away from the yacht. I watched him standing on the deck, silhouetted against the lights of the party, and felt nothing but a strange, hollow relief.
I'd spent weeks convincing myself I loved Adrian Winthrop. That I could make him happy, that we could build something real together. But love wasn't supposed to feel like this—like constantly bracing for impact, constantly wondering if tonight would be the night he finally looked at me with something more than careful affection.
Love wasn't supposed to hurt this much.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from Elizabeth: Safe travels! Can't wait to start planning the wedding. You're going to make the most beautiful bride.
I stared at the text until the words blurred, then turned off my phone and dropped it back into my clutch.
The wedding would never happen. The beautiful bride would never walk down the aisle to marry Adrian Winthrop. Because I'd finally understood what I'd been too naive—too hopeful—to see before.
Adrian would never be mine. Not really. Not in the way that mattered.
And I deserved better than spending my life as someone's second choice.
The tender cut through the dark water toward Manhattan, carrying me away from the yacht, away from Adrian, away from the future I'd thought I wanted.