Ethan ended the call.
Jesse didn’t care in the slightest. He’d seen it too many times. Whenever their teasing hit a nerve, Ethan would just quietly hang up, and as old friends, they’d all gotten used to it.
Soon after, Ethan walked into the hotel. Normally, he’d slip in through a private entrance to avoid crowds, but after bumping into his wife earlier, he didn’t bother hiding this time.
Isabella was sitting on a sofa in the lobby, phone in hand. She looked up when he came in, gave him the briefest glance, then went right back to her screen.
Her total lack of interest brought Jesse’s words back to him. Her love for you is fading.
He couldn’t blame her. This was his fault. He’d lied to her about everything—the marriage, his feelings. When she found out the truth, she cried for days, but now she was moving on, piece by piece, letting go of her feelings for him. She was trying to heal.
What right did he have to resent her for falling out of love? Wasn’t this what he wanted all along? He’d told her more than once not to love him. So why, now that she was finally letting go, did he feel so unsettled?
Ethan walked right over and stood in front of her. The couch was already full, no room left, but he just stood there, looking down at her.
People nearby glanced their way, clearly interested.
“You can sit here,” Isabella said, standing up and giving him her spot. She moved off to the side, leaning against a big pillar, eyes glued to her phone again.
She was actually reading a script the writer had just sent her, completely absorbed in the story.
Ethan’s face darkened. He turned to the person sitting next to Isabella’s empty spot. “Excuse me. Would you mind if I sit here?” he said quietly.

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