Chapter 4: The Mark on Her Neck

Even after seven years together without ever making it official, no one in their circle had dared say a word about it. Now, all this time later, I was watching Isla lose her temper like that again, only this time it wasn't for me.

It was for Damien.

My mind was a mess the entire ride home, thoughts tangling over each other with no resolution.

When we walked in, Isla stood in the living room and looked at me coldly. After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice low.

"Damien's back. I'll file for divorce with him tomorrow, and we can get married the day after.

"I know you're overthinking things again. I'm tired of explaining myself. Just let me show you, okay?"

Something in her voice—that quiet, barely-there pleading—made me look at her in spite of myself.

She turned toward the hallway mirror to take off her jacket, and the moment she caught her reflection, I saw it—a fresh, unmistakable hickey stark against the pale skin of her neck.

My whole body went rigid. I walked toward her, one slow step at a time.

Isla must have thought I was forgiving her, because her expression finally softened into a smile I hadn't seen in a long time, and she reached out for me.

It took everything I had just to stay standing. I lifted a trembling hand, pointed a finger at the glass right over the dark mark in her reflection, and looked up into her eyes.

"Is this how you're going to prove it to me?"

Isla followed my gaze in the mirror, and the moment she saw it, she went completely still, her lips pressed tight, saying nothing.

I felt like a clown. Even up until a second ago, some stupid part of me had still been hoping. But that mark killed whatever was left.

I was an idiot, a complete and absolute idiot.

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over, and let out a quiet, hollow laugh. Isla panicked completely.

I'd never seen so many emotions cross her face at once—fear, desperation, and confusion—like she didn't know what to do with herself, but never once guilt.

"Nate, there's a reason for this—"

"Isla, let's break up."

I cut her off and said it calmly. The color drained from Isla's face. She kept shaking her head and tried to wrap her arms around me, but I stepped back to keep the distance and said it again.

"We're done."

Isla kept coming forward, kept trying to explain. I held my hands up between us, steady and final.

"It's over. Tomorrow, go to the hospital for the procedure. We—"

Before I could finish, Isla tackled me onto the couch. She ignored my struggling and buried her face in my neck, her voice cracked and raw.

"Don't say that, Nate. Don't leave me."

That hit me so hard my eyes burned, and my throat closed up like something was crushing it.

Isla had been born out of wedlock. Even after the Farrow family took her in, she'd never really shaken that deep-rooted insecurity.

She'd been a real Farrow for years now, a legitimate member of the family in every way, but she still jolted awake in the middle of the night drenched in sweat.

Whenever that happened, I'd fight off my own exhaustion and curl up against her, patting her back the way someone would soothe a child.

"It's okay. It's all over. You're safe now."

She always buried her face against my collarbone and cried without making a sound, whimpering like a stray that had been left behind.

"Nate, you're all I have. Please don't leave me."

I never thought I'd hear those words again under circumstances like these. A thousand thoughts flooded my head at once. Seven years together made it impossible to say no to her right then and there.

After a long time, Isla's trembling finally went still, and she slowly calmed down.