"Too close to stay"

August 5th, 2025

Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Tokyo - 8:34 AM

Ian stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the filtered golden light of morning slipping through velvet curtains.

The sheets were plush and crisp beneath him, the scent of expensive fabric softener lingering.

It took him a second to remember where he was - Isabelle's penthouse suite. The events of the previous day came flooding back: their reunion, the laughter, the bittersweet tension, and the quiet vulnerability they shared.

Isabelle had persuaded him to take over the spare room. Her words echoed in his mind. "You can stay here whenever you like, Ian. As long as I'm here, this can be your home too." It was generous.

Almost too generous. It disturbed him. Made him feel like a shadow, disrupting the fragile shape of her new life.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He shouldn't be here. Not with Isabelle and her fiancée. He was an intruder, no matter how kind she was.

Then he heard it - voices. Sharp, clashing voices cutting through the morning calm.

Madison.

She was yelling. Furious.

"Why the fuck does he have to stay here with us?" she shouted, the words rattling through the penthouse like shrapnel. "He has no house to stay? How pathetic."

Ian's heart sank. He pulled the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed, straining to hear.

"Yes, he has no home," Isabelle responded, her voice calm but firm. Still composed, even in defense. "He's homeless right now."

Madison scoffed, her voice thick with contempt. "Wow. Really a pathetic man. I'm shocked you fell in love with that bum."

Ian clenched his jaw.

Then silence.

Dead, heavy silence.

And Isabelle's voice, low and deadly: "Say 'bum' one more time. See what happens."

"Or what?" Madison snapped. "What will you do, Belle? Huh? Throw me out over some man you once loved?"

Silence again. Isabelle didn't respond. Her restraint was legendary, but Ian could hear it - the quiet fury, the pain behind it.

Then Madison, her voice flaring. "I swear to God, if that man is still here when I get back..." Her voice trailed into a growl. Doors slammed.

He heard footsteps storming across marble flooring, and the sharp click of the penthouse door being yanked open, then shut with a deafening thud.

The silence that followed was crushing.

Ian sat still, staring at the door to his room. His chest was tight, his stomach churning. He had caused this.

No matter how kind Isabelle had been, he knew he didn't belong here. Not anymore.

He stepped out of the room quietly. The penthouse was bathed in pale light now.

He found Isabelle in the kitchen, her back to him, her hands resting on the counter, a mug untouched beside her.

She didn't turn.

"Want to eat breakfast?" she asked, her voice low, quiet. There was hurt in it, barely disguised. Her usual warmth was dulled.

Ian didn't answer. He sat beside her at the island counter.

Neither of them spoke. The silence was filled with tension and unspoken words.

Finally, Ian took a breath.

"I should go," he said softly. "I don't want to shatter what you and Madison have."

Isabelle turned to him quickly. "No, you're not-"

"Isabelle," he interrupted gently, eyes meeting hers. "I'm grateful. Really. For everything. But I think I'm overstepping. This is too much. You have someone else now. And she doesn't want me here. I can't stay where I'm not wanted."

Isabelle looked down, her shoulders falling. She sighed deeply. There was so much she wanted to say, but couldn't.

Ian stood.

"I have to go, Isabelle. I'm going back to South Carolina."

Her eyes lifted to his, wide with a sudden surge of emotion. "Ian..."

He gave her a sad smile.

"You said it yourself. I need peace. I need to find it. And you... you deserve yours."

"And I don't want to break it."

He turned and walked toward the guest bathroom.

His steps felt heavier than they should. Each one echoing louder than the last.

Isabelle sat still.

She felt her throat tighten.

She didn't want him to go. Not again.

But what could she say?

Outside, the city of Tokyo pulsed with life. But in that penthouse, the air felt still, dense with everything unspoken.

Everything that still lived between them, quietly buried beneath pride, timing, and broken paths.

She didn't follow him. She just stared at the place where he had been, her eyes stinging.

In the bathroom, Ian turned on the shower.

He leaned on the sink for a moment, staring at his own reflection. The steam blurred the glass, but not enough to hide the conflict in his eyes.

It was the right thing to do.

Wasn't it?