When up-and-coming model Isabelle meets talented but jaded photographer Milo, sparks fly despite their age difference. Their romance becomes the talk of the New York City fashion scene, fueling rumors and speculation about their scandalous affair. A...
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She felt so alone, like she had nowhere to turn to. The cold air burning her lungs. Some people gave her starnge looks, but nobody really stopped to ask if she was okay.
She stopped at an intersection and looked up at the buildings that were threatening to swallow her whole.
She couldn't do this, could she?
Was this the moment she was finally going to break, after doing so good?
Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Now that she was crying, she couldn't stop. She pulled out her phone shakily, and accidentally opened another new text message from Milo.
Are you okay? Text me xx
She wasn't sure if it was an accident or not, but all of a sudden her phone was dialing his.
He picked up quickly............
"Hello?" His voice had a tint of worry she didn't recognize.
She wanted to say hi, but only a sob came out.
"Isabelle? Are you okay? Where are you??"
"I'm so sorry," was all she could muster.
"Isabelle," Milo said all of a sudden very level headed. "Isabelle, I need you to get into a cab and give them my address. Can you do that for me?" His voice was the only thing holding her in focus.
She nodded, but he couldn't see her so he said her name again.
She gulped for air, "yes."
"Okay, I'll see you so soon. Straight to my place, okay?"
"Okay," she felt a little bit better.
She managed to flag down a cab, she didn't want to know what she looked like.
She felt bad coming to Milo like this but she felt she had no choice.
The 10-minute drive turned into 16 due to New York traffic and she thought she was going to lose her mind, counting down the seconds.
She was fumbling in her bag for money when she arrived, but before she could find anything, there was. A knock on the window, and there he was. Milo, handing money to the cab driver. Pulling her out gently by her elbow, looking at her with concern.
"Isabelle," he breathed, holding her near to him. It looked like wanted to say so much, but instead, he said "come inside."
She squeezed beside him in the elevator, face buried in his chest.
Once they jade it back to the apartment, he sat her down o his ouch and brought her a glass of water.
"What happened?" His brow was furrowed. It was the same couch they sat on that irst night they got together.
