The moment the penthouse door clicked shut behind Nathaniel, Arabella stood motionless, her fingers still curled slightly from where they had just clutched her robe. The silence he left behind echoed louder than any storm, and it settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. She could still feel the residual heat of his presence—his cologne lingering in the air, the echo of his footsteps fading.
She should have been angry. She should have screamed or thrown something at him. But all she could feel was the weight of what he didn't say. The trust between them was unraveling, thread by thread.
Arabella sank into the armchair by the window, staring out into the glittering skyline of the city. The lights blinked like distant stars, but they offered no comfort. Not tonight.
Her phone buzzed beside her, vibrating insistently against the glass coffee table.
It was Elina.
Elina: Did he find out? Are you okay?
Arabella swallowed hard before replying.
Arabella: Yes. He suspects everything. I think he's testing me.
Three dots blinked on her screen before Elina responded.
Elina: Don't panic. He's smart, but so are you. Just stay calm. Come to the café tomorrow morning—we need a plan.
Arabella sighed, locking her phone. A plan. That was what she needed. But more than that, she needed to breathe. To think clearly.
Because Nathaniel wasn't just testing her.
He was watching her.
And every moment she stayed in his house, she risked everything unraveling.
---
The next morning, Arabella arrived at the café wearing large sunglasses and a beige trench coat. Her eyes were shielded, but not even the thickest lenses could hide the exhaustion in her posture.
Elina was already there, sipping on a cappuccino and staring down at her tablet.
"I ordered your favorite," she said, pushing a cup toward Arabella as she sat down.
"Thanks," Arabella murmured, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic cup. She needed the caffeine as much as she needed comfort.
"So," Elina said, lowering her voice, "what did he say?"
Arabella took a slow breath and told her everything—Nathaniel's questions, his cold tone, the silence between the lines. Elina listened without interrupting, her brows furrowing deeper with every word.
"Damn," she said softly. "He's getting close."
Arabella nodded, her throat tightening.
"But here's the thing," Elina continued, "he doesn't know for sure. And as long as he doesn't have proof, you still have the upper hand."
"I don't feel like I do," Arabella whispered. "It feels like I'm standing on a glass bridge—and every step I take, it cracks more."
"Then we reinforce that glass," Elina said firmly. "You need to throw him off. Confuse him."
"How?"
"Remind him why he brought you back into his life in the first place. Make him question his own suspicions."
Arabella looked at her. "You mean... seduce him?"
Elina raised an eyebrow. "I mean charm him. Be the version of you he can't resist. You're smart, Arabella. Use it."
Arabella hesitated, staring into her coffee. "And what about the truth? About Noah?"
Elina's expression softened. "The truth... can wait. Until you're safe. Until you're ready."
Arabella nodded slowly. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was the answer she needed.
---
That night, she returned to the penthouse and found it quiet. Nathaniel wasn't home yet.
She slipped out of her trench coat and into a silk dress—a deep wine color that clung to her body like a second skin. It was bold, elegant, and just daring enough to send a message.
She lit a few candles in the dining room, let soft jazz hum through the speakers, and placed two wine glasses on the table. If he wanted to play games, so could she.
An hour passed. Then another.
Finally, the elevator dinged.
Arabella turned as Nathaniel stepped in. He paused when he saw her—his eyes flickering briefly with surprise, then caution.
"You're home late," she said smoothly, walking toward him.
His gaze swept over her. "I had business."
She smiled. "I thought you might be hungry."
He raised an eyebrow. "Are we pretending everything's normal now?"
Her smile faltered, just slightly. "We don't have to pretend. But we can talk. Like adults."
Nathaniel studied her for a long moment before walking past her, setting his keys on the counter.
"I'm not in the mood for wine," he said.
Arabella didn't let the sting show. "Then let's skip the wine. And talk instead."
He turned to face her, folding his arms. "You first."
She stepped closer, steadying her breath. "You don't trust me. I can feel it."
He said nothing.
"And maybe I haven't given you a reason to. But I'm here, Nathaniel. I chose to stay. Doesn't that count for something?"
His jaw clenched. "Why did you come back?"
The question pierced deeper than she expected.
She lowered her eyes. "Because I needed a fresh start. Because I didn't want to run anymore."
He took a step forward. "You're still running. Just in circles around me."
Arabella met his gaze, her voice trembling slightly. "Then give me a reason to stop."
Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of vulnerability. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
"I don't want to fight," she said softly.
He nodded once, then walked past her toward the bedroom, leaving the candles flickering behind him.
---
The next few days passed in a fragile rhythm. Nathaniel was in and out of the penthouse—sometimes quiet, sometimes distant, but always watching. Arabella felt his gaze like a shadow behind her, a constant presence even when he didn't speak.
She kept herself composed, careful not to slip. Every lie she didn't tell was a thread keeping her secret safe.
But one evening, as she returned from the market, she found the door slightly ajar.
Her pulse quickened.
She stepped inside, calling out softly, "Nathaniel?"
No answer.
She crept further in—and stopped.
On the coffee table lay an old envelope. Torn open. Its contents—a crumpled photo and a letter—lay exposed.
It was the letter Elina had written her in the hospital. The one she thought she'd burned.
And the photo—of her and Noah.
Arabella's blood ran cold.
Footsteps behind her made her spin around.
Nathaniel stood there, the unreadable expression on his face now sharper.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.
Arabella's lips parted, but no sound came out.
He stepped closer, holding up the photo. "Who is this child?"
Her voice trembled. "Nathaniel, I can explain—"
"I'm listening."
She couldn't breathe.
"It's not what you think."
He stepped forward, fire in his eyes. "Then tell me what it is."
Arabella looked at the photo, at the child's bright eyes—so much like Nathaniel's—and knew that her secret was no longer safe.
Tears welled up as she whispered, "His name is Noah. He's... he's my son."
Nathaniel's expression shattered.
Silence exploded between them.
"My son?" His voice cracked.
Arabella nodded, tears streaming down her face.
"I wanted to tell you," she choked. "But I was scared. I didn't know how you'd react."
Nathaniel turned away, his hands on his head, trying to process the truth.
Arabella moved toward him. "Please. He's your son. He deserves to know who you are."
He spun around, fury flashing in his eyes. "You took that from me. You lied to me!"
"I did it to protect him! To protect you! There were people—your enemies—who would've used him against you!"
"You don't get to decide that," he growled. "You don't get to rewrite my life."
She froze, the weight of his words crashing over her.
Nathaniel looked at her, betrayal etched deep into his face. "How old is he?"
"Three," she whispered.
He exhaled sharply, stepping back as if the truth burned him.
"I need time," he said coldly, walking past her again.
Arabella didn't try to stop him this time.
The door slammed.
And she was left alone in the silence, shattered like the reflections of their trust.
Arabella's breath caught in her throat as she stood rooted to the floor. The photograph Nathaniel had dropped moments ago lay at her feet — an image of her in the arms of her late husband, the man she had once loved but who had betrayed her in the most unimaginable way. Her fingers trembled as she reached down to pick it up, the glossy surface of the picture suddenly feeling like ice against her skin.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice a brittle whisper.
Nathaniel didn't answer right away. He leaned against the desk with a guarded expression, his eyes scanning her face for every flicker of emotion.
"I have my sources," he said at last. "But what I want to know is why you never told me who you really were. Arabella… or should I say, Isabella?"
The name hit her like a slap.
"No one has called me that in years," she whispered.
Nathaniel's jaw tensed. "Why did you lie to me?"
Arabella turned away, clutching the photo tightly, afraid her knees might give way. The past was catching up with her faster than she could outrun it. She had fought so hard to bury Isabella — to protect herself from the shadows that name carried. But now it all stood in the open between her and the man who had made her heart beat again.
"I didn't lie," she said quietly. "I survived."
Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Nathaniel crossed the distance between them, his voice low and dangerous. "That's not an answer."
She turned to face him, eyes blazing. "You think I had a choice? That I wanted to become someone else? My entire life fell apart the moment I realized I was just a pawn in my ex-husband's empire. When I saw him with my best friend... when I lost everything. I didn't just lose my name, Nathaniel — I lost myself."
His expression softened slightly, but the tension in his body didn't ease. "You should have told me. I deserved to know."
Arabella shook her head. "No, you deserved a clean slate. I didn't want to drag you into my mess."
Nathaniel exhaled deeply, raking a hand through his hair. "Too late for that, Arabella. Because I am in it. Whether you like it or not."
Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. She had shed enough tears for a lifetime.
"I didn't expect to fall for you," she whispered. "That wasn't part of the plan. None of this was."
"And yet, here we are." His voice cracked slightly, but he stood firm. "You made me feel like I finally had something real. And now I find out that the woman I trust the most isn't who she said she was."
Arabella stepped closer. "I am that woman, Nathaniel. Everything I've shown you, everything I've felt — it was real. I might have changed my name, but my heart didn't lie to you."
He looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, slowly, he walked past her, stopping by the doorway.
"I need time," he said without turning around. "To think."
Arabella watched him leave, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing like a final judgment. She stood there, hollow and shaking, the photo still clutched in her hand.
---
Later that night, Arabella sat on the edge of her bed, the city lights casting shimmering patterns across the walls. Elina had tried calling, but she didn't have the strength to answer. She didn't know how to explain what had happened. Everything she had carefully rebuilt was unraveling. Not just her relationship with Nathaniel — but her new identity, her peace, her future.
Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number.
Her heart skipped.
She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"
A familiar voice came through the line. Cold. Calculated.
"Isabella... or should I say Arabella now? Clever move."
Her blood ran cold. That voice — it belonged to him.
"Jason," she breathed.
"Miss me?" he said, a mocking lilt in his tone. "I told you, sweetheart. You can't run from me forever."
Arabella's fingers clenched around the phone. "What do you want?"
Jason chuckled. "Oh, I already have everything I want. But seeing you squirm… that's just a bonus. Let's just say I'm back in town. And I have a little surprise planned. Something to remind you of what we once had."
She hung up before he could say more, her heart hammering. Her hands trembled as she tossed the phone onto the bed.
He was back.
The man who had betrayed her, ruined her — the man she had faked her death to escape — was now here.
She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop the scream threatening to escape. How did he find her? Was Nathaniel's investigation what led Jason to her?
Arabella stood up and began pacing. Panic threatened to consume her, but she knew she had to be smart. She couldn't afford to break now. Not when everything — her life, her identity, Nathaniel — was on the line.
She needed a plan.
She needed to protect the people she cared about — even if it meant confronting her past face-to-face.
---
The next morning, Nathaniel sat in his office, the photograph still on his desk. He hadn't slept. The revelations about Arabella—or Isabella—haunted him. But the more he tried to be angry, the more he found himself remembering the way she had looked at him. The way she had trusted him despite her secrets. The pain in her voice when she spoke of betrayal.
His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Elina.
> "Nathaniel. Arabella's not picking up. Something's wrong."
He shot up from his chair.
Whatever doubts he had, whatever anger lingered — they vanished the moment he read that message.