Chapter 4: A Face from the Past

Isabella's POV

The room fell into a heavy silence after I spoke, and I could feel Chloe's stare sharp against my back, her confusion and annoyance palpable. Ethan's face, however, remained a mask, giving nothing away. It wasn't often that I openly claimed my place in this marriage—especially one I had tried so hard to keep at arm's length. But something had shifted within me today; I wasn't about to back down.

Ethan finally met my gaze, his eyes calm yet penetrating. "This is the first time you've acknowledged me as your husband," he said quietly, a note of something unexpected in his voice.

His words caught me off guard. I hadn't realized just how deliberately I'd avoided any real acknowledgment of our relationship. It was true, I had never before spoken of him as my husband without a shade of resentment.

Chloe, who had been lingering awkwardly at the edge of our conversation, seemed to grasp at this unexpected turn to regain control. Her face soured, and she managed a brittle smile. "Well, unfortunately, the auction list is finalized," she said, her tone attempting lightness but strained with tension. "And Isabella, the gown we ordered isn't even in your size."

Her words were a clear attempt to dismiss me, to maintain the status quo where she could manage the narrative. But I was done letting her dictate the terms of my involvement.

Ignoring her comment, I stood and walked decisively towards Ethan. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as I approached, but he made no move to step back. Standing before him, I felt a surge of confidence that had been absent for far too long.

The tension in the room was palpable as my eyes locked on Ethan. “As my husband, it’s your duty to support me,” I stated with a newfound resolve. “I’m attending the auction with you, and I expect your support.”

Ethan stared at me, unblinking and silent, as if trying to determine whether my words held any truth or were merely another jab at him, fueled by bitterness. His silence seemed to embolden Chloe. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice dripping with condescension.

"Isabella, that dress isn’t even right for you. The guest list is already set. There’s nothing we can do now, and I’m only saying this for your own good," she said, her tone lofty, like she was doing me a favor.

But her words didn’t faze me.

"That’s your problem, not mine," I replied, my voice calm and sharp as ice. "I trust Ethan will find a way."

Chloe glanced at Ethan, still silent, but something about his quietness seemed to reassure her. She gave a forced smile, trying to play the role of the caring friend. "Ethan is too busy to be running around for something as trivial as this, Isabella. As his wife, you should think of him. It's just a charity auction..."

"Fine." Ethan’s voice cut through the air, stopping Chloe mid-sentence. He remained as stoic as ever, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at me—something I wasn’t used to. His unguarded stare made me uncomfortable, and I found myself breaking eye contact, unsure of how to react.

Chloe blinked, caught off guard. It took her a second to realize that Ethan’s "fine" wasn’t directed at her—it was for me. Whatever the excuse—whether it was the dress or something else—Ethan had spoken, and that meant he would handle everything.

Chloe’s smile faltered, her expression freezing in place. But she wasn’t quite ready to give up.

"But Ethan, the—"

Ethan cut her off, his tone final. “I’ve made my decision. This isn’t up for debate.”

The shock on Chloe’s face was almost satisfying. She wasn’t accustomed to Ethan standing up for me, asserting himself in matters that concerned us. It was a significant shift in dynamics, one that I hadn’t expected but welcomed. The balance of power was subtly shifting, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had an ally in him.

Chloe’s attempt to keep a polite facade was failing. “Of course, Ethan, whatever you think is best,” she said, her voice strained, barely masking her irritation.

Standing there, I couldn’t suppress a small, victorious smile. It wasn’t just about attending the auction—it was about Ethan supporting me in front of Chloe, something that rarely happened.

Ethan noticed my bare feet, and his tone shifted to one of mild annoyance. “Isabella, put on some shoes,” he said, nodding toward my feet.

Although his comment was simple, it somehow lightened the mood for me. Chloe, on the other hand, looked like she had swallowed something sour. Her crafted excuses about the auction list and the ill-fitting gown now seemed petty and insignificant.

Seeing her chance to control the situation slipping, Chloe's face tightened. With a stiff nod, she quickly excused herself. The sharp tap of her heels echoed against the floor as she hurried out, the door shutting behind her with a sound that seemed to seal her defeat.

The room fell into an uneasy silence after her departure. Ethan looked back at me, his expression unreadable, eyes piercing as if trying to decipher my sudden assertiveness.

“Uh… thanks?” I broke the silence awkwardly, my voice sounding unsure, as I tried to ease the tension between us.

"What do you mean by that?" Ethan’s voice was low, carrying that familiar weight, a subtle authority that always made me feel like I was being interrogated. I used to despise it—the way he spoke, like I was always under suspicion. But today, for some reason, I heard something different. A hint of… nervousness? Was he nervous? Because of me? I blinked, confused. Why would he be? He’d always held the upper hand in this marriage.

“Isabella?” My silence seemed to make him even more uneasy. His brow furrowed, and those deep, ink-black eyes of his locked onto mine, pulling me in with a strange magnetism. And somehow, in that gaze, the storm of anxiety, doubt, and confusion swirling inside me began to settle.

The questions that had haunted me—whether that memory was real, why Ethan had risked his life running into that fire to save me—suddenly felt less urgent, less important.

“Ethan, maybe we should talk,” I exhaled, finally finding my voice. My eyes met his with a steadiness I hadn’t felt in a long time. We’d both been trapped in this marriage for too long. Whether that memory was true or not didn’t matter. What mattered was stopping this cycle of tragedy from repeating itself.

He didn’t say a word, just nodded slightly, waiting for me to continue.

“I meant,” I began slowly, choosing my words carefully, “that maybe we need to redefine what this relationship is. Maybe we’ve been holding on to the wrong things for too long.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Redefine?” he echoed, clearly unsure of where I was going with this.

I took a breath, steadying myself. “We both know this marriage hasn’t been about love or even trust. It’s been a contract, a way for us to meet expectations set by other people. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge that.”

Ethan’s eyes darkened, and I could tell I'd struck a nerve. He crossed his arms over his chest, a telltale sign he was feeling unsettled. His voice was low, trying to mask a flicker of disappointment as he asked, “So, what are you suggesting, Isabella?”

I kept my voice steady. “I’m saying, if this is just a contract marriage, let's not pretend it’s anything else. We don’t have to be constantly at odds. We can make this work, just on practical terms.”

Ethan paused for what felt like an eternity, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made me squirm. When he finally spoke, his voice was so cold it sent a shiver down my spine. “So, you just want to be my wife on paper. Nothing more?” His tone was distant, clipped, catching me completely off guard. I had expected relief—after all, in our past, we had both grown tired of wasting time on endless fights. Now, I was ready to be the wife he needed, no more, no less. Why did he look so furious?

“I’m just being realistic,” I swallowed, trying to keep my voice calm, to show him I meant no harm. “Haven’t we always been practical?”

His eyes flashed, a mix of emotions crossing his face that I couldn’t quite read. “Is that all you see this as? Just a practical arrangement?”

I stood my ground, feeling a mix of defensiveness and sadness. “That’s what it’s always been,” I replied quietly. “I’m tired of pretending.”

There was a long silence where Ethan just looked at me, his face hardening. It felt like we were losing something, something I hadn’t even realized was there to lose. Finally, he spoke again, his voice emotionless. “I see. If that’s what you want.”

The disappointment in his eyes was painfully clear, and it stung more than I had expected. I had thought framing our relationship strictly as a contract would simplify things, help us live together without constant strife. But the way Ethan looked at me, his voice hollow with finality, I realized I might have reached deeper than I intended.

He turned and headed towards the door. "We should get ready for the auction," he said, his tone distant as he retreated, back behind his emotional walls.

Watching him walk away, I felt a mix of emotions tightening in my chest—disappointment, maybe regret. I had been so certain that accepting our marriage as nothing more than a contract was the right move, but now, doubts crept in.

Standing alone in the silence, I considered the possibility that I had misunderstood Ethan. Maybe beneath his stoic exterior, he had hoped for something more from our marriage, from me. For the first time, I entertained the thought that perhaps I had judged him too harshly.

Ethan wasted no time. Later that afternoon, the doorbell rang again, and when I opened it, I was greeted by someone I never expected to see.

“Hi, Isabella! So excited to meet you. I’m here to ensure you look absolutely stunning for the auction!”

Standing at my door was a petite girl, her face glowing with enthusiasm, her voice full of energy. I stood there, frozen, my mouth slightly open as I took her in. Her bright smile, her lively tone—it was all too much.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally managed to breathe out the name that had been buried deep in my heart, a name I had avoided for so long.

“Eva…”