Bruised Hands, Broken Trust

Arabella stood outside the penthouse balcony, gripping the cold steel railing with trembling fingers. The city lights shimmered below her, but her heart was heavy and full of fog. She thought fresh air might help, but all it did was make her feel even more alone.

Inside, Sebastian's voice echoed in her ears, replaying over and over.

"You're pathetic, Arabella. Always clinging to what's already gone."

She had barely said a word. What could she have said? He no longer listened. Not really. Not even when she begged him to believe she didn't push Juliette's assistant down the stairs. Not even when she swore she had no idea about the leaked photos of Juliette crying in a towel. Juliette always seemed to be one step ahead, always with a new tale to spin, another trap to spring.

Arabella took a deep breath, fighting tears. She wouldn't cry again. At least not tonight.

Behind her, the door slid open, and she turned sharply.

It was Sebastian.

His jaw clenched as he looked at her. For a second, it almost seemed like guilt flickered in his eyes.

Almost.

"You're still here," he said stiffly.

"You didn't ask me to leave."

"I didn't have to. Most women would have left by now."

Arabella's chest tightened. There it was again.... the dare. The test. How much could she take before she broke?

"I'm not most women," she whispered.

"No," he said, walking past her. "You're worse. At least most women know when they're not wanted."

Her heart cracked, but she stood still. She wouldn't let him see her fall apart. Not anymore.

Later that night, Arabella quietly packed an overnight bag. Just one. No decision. No escape plan. Just space.

She left him a note on the kitchen island.

"Gone to spend the night at Claire's. Don't wait up."

That was all.

No drama. No confrontation.

But her fingers trembled as she stepped into the cab outside. Claire didn't even live in the city anymore. Arabella had nowhere to go. She just needed to leave. Needed air that didn't smell like another woman's perfume. Needed silence that wasn't laced with accusations.

She ended up at a 24-hour diner across the city with coffee and a booth in the corner. Her phone was buzzing nonstop with unknown numbers.

Probably Juliette again, she thought bitterly. Or Sebastian using a different number to see if she'd pick up.

But she didn't.

She stared out the window, sipping the lukewarm coffee until the waitress stopped refilling it. She watched couples walking by. A man opened a car door for a woman. Another man pressed a kiss to a woman's forehead. It reminded her of how Sebastian used to be. Of how safe she once felt with him.

God, what happened?

Her mind spiraled. If only she had left sooner. If only she hadn't ignored the red flags. If only she hadn't stayed hoping he'd return to the man she once knew.

She shut her eyes and exhaled sharply.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

She looked up, startled.

A tall man in a charcoal suit stood in front of her booth. He looked more like someone who belonged in a boardroom than a greasy diner. He had that calm, poised aura about him. Dark brown hair, clean-shaven jaw, and the kind of eyes that studied you like a contract.

Arabella blinked.

"No, but— I wasn't really expecting company."

"I figured," he said, sliding into the seat anyway. "But you've been sitting here for hours, and I thought you could use a conversation that didn't leave you in tears."

Her cheeks flushed. "I wasn't crying."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were holding back tears. That's worse."

She looked away, about to tell him off, but something about his tone — nonjudgmental, calm — made her pause.

"I'm Lucien," he added, extending a hand across the table. "Lucien Crane."

Arabella stared at him for a moment before shaking his hand. Firm grip. Cold fingers.

"Arabella."

"Pretty name for a woman who looks like she just lost everything."

She laughed softly, the sound bitter and ironic. "Maybe I did."

"Well," Lucien said, glancing around the near-empty diner, "then you're in the perfect place. Most success stories begin in places like this."

She narrowed her eyes. "You believe in that kind of thing?"

"Absolutely not," he replied, sipping her cold coffee without asking. "But it sounds poetic."

That made her smile — a real one. Small, but real.

They sat there in silence for a while. He didn't ask questions. She didn't volunteer explanations. But the air between them was strange — not comforting, exactly, but… still.

Eventually, her phone lit up again. This time, a name flashed across the screen.

Sebastian.

She stared at it, heart pounding. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Lucien leaned forward slightly, his voice low.

"Don't answer."

She looked up at him, startled.

"I didn't say it to be cruel," he added. "I said it because you looked happy for three seconds. Don't ruin it."

She stared at the phone until it stopped ringing.

For once, she didn't pick up.

The booth went quiet again, save for the clink of spoons and the hiss of the coffee machine in the background.

Lucien stood up, reaching into his jacket. He slid a sleek, matte-black business card across the table.

"If you ever need a reason to stop answering calls from people who don't deserve you, call me instead."

Arabella picked up the card and stared.

Lucien Crane

CEO, Crane Global Holdings

She looked up, but he was already walking away.

He paused at the door, looked back once, then disappeared into the night.

Arabella sat frozen, clutching the card like a lifeline.

And for the first time in weeks, her heart skipped a beat — not from fear.

But from something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Hope.