"Wasn't he supposed to come next week?" Isabella put away her phone and lifted an eyebrow.

"If he's here, then he's here. What are you so pointed about?"

Isabella caught a whiff of perfume from Zoe and added with a dry laugh, "You even put on perfume?"

Zoe Finn giggled playfully. "It’s about making a good first impression. Come on, we need to hurry back to the office."

But Isabella replied, "It’s still our break. Even if our new boss is here, we don’t need to sprint."

"No way. Jen just called. Everyone’s already gathered. We have to go back." Zoe tugged at her arm, but didn’t expect to come face-to-face with Zachary Grant near the company’s main doors.

"It’s Zachary Grant," Zoe said quickly. She gave a polite nod, then looked at Isabella. "Make it quick. I’ll head back up."

Once Zoe left, Isabella’s entire expression changed.

"Why are you here?"

Zachary and Isabella had started dating in high school. By college, they had met each other’s families and even discussed marriage. Zachary Grant had always seemed like his name: calm, collected, honorable. He was book-smart, well-mannered, and appeared deeply dependable. Isabella once believed she would grow old with him.

But all it took was a single betrayal. Him. Chloe.

She was never the type to sugarcoat pain. The two people she trusted most had turned their backs on her. It felt like they'd each driven a knife into her chest, deliberately, without remorse. The pain was unspeakable.

"Isabella, please. Just hear me out," Zachary said, remorse plain on his face. But his very presence made her stomach turn.

She laughed, bitter and hollow. "I don't think there's anything left to say. I already spoke with Chloe. You should focus on her. She's pregnant, after all."

Zachary paled. "It's not what you think, Isa—"

"Watch how you address me. I'm not your Isa anymore." She bit her lip hard, forcing back the storm rising inside her. With a final glare, she turned and walked toward the elevators.

Zachary stood there alone, shoulders sagging. He wanted to run after her, to explain, but the way she held herself—rigid, trembling, resolute—told him it would be pointless.

He had broken something that couldn’t be repaired.

When the elevator doors closed around her, Isabella finally let go. The tears came hot and fast. She pressed her palms to her face, biting her lip to silence herself.

It had been a week. She hadn't told anyone about that night, about what was taken from her. She thought she was coping. She told herself Zachary wasn't worth the pain.

But seeing him just now made it clear: forgetting wasn't easy. Not when you'd built a life in your mind that had to be dismantled.

Loving him had carved a shape into her heart. Letting him go meant tearing part of herself out.

Still shaking, she barely registered the soft ding of the elevator arriving at the executive floor.

Footsteps clicked on the marble outside.

She heard a familiar voice fawning just beyond the doors: "Chairman Sinclair, right this way..."