The Unspoken Attraction

Chapter 8: Unveiling the Truth

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Isabella's apartment, casting long, soft shadows across the floor. Outside, the world was beginning to stir—cars passing on the street, the distant hum of people starting their day—but inside, a heavy silence filled the air.

Isabella stood by the window, staring out at nothing in particular. Her reflection in the glass looked calm, but inside, her thoughts were anything but. The night at the gala had left her feeling off-kilter. Ian had been attentive, and thoughtful, yet... different. When Sofea had arrived with that man, the look in Ian's eyes had been unmistakable. She hadn't missed the subtle change in his expression, the flash of something she hadn't seen before. A longing, perhaps, or maybe just nostalgia.

She tried to shake it off, to brush it away as nothing more than her own insecurities. But something within her wouldn't let it go. Ian had seemed present with her one moment, only to drift elsewhere when Sofea appeared. It was as if he'd been pulled back to a part of himself, he hadn't entirely let go of. And that part, she feared, might be Sofea.

Her fingers traced the edge of the window frame, cool beneath her touch. I have to know, she thought, exhaling a sigh. This uncertainty was wearing her down. She loved Ian, and yet, the ghost of Sofea lingered between them, a presence she couldn't ignore.

Later that morning, a soft knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. Isabella opened it to find Ian, standing there with a warm smile and a bouquet of lilies—her favourite flowers. He remembered all the little things. It was these small gestures that made everything so confusing.

"Hey, beautiful," Ian said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. For a fleeting second, she allowed herself to savor his touch, to let herself believe that everything was okay.

"Hi," she replied, taking the flowers from his hands with a faint smile. She moved to the living room to place them in a vase, her mind working to piece together the words she needed to say. But the tension had already settled in, thick and unspoken.

"Is everything okay?" Ian asked, following her. His eyes held a glimmer of concern, sensing the distance between them. "You seem... quiet."

Isabella's breath caught. Now or never. She turned to face him, her heart racing. "Ian, we need to talk," she said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

The lightness in his expression faded, replaced by a look of guarded curiosity. He gestured toward the couch. "Sure. What's going on?"

Isabella didn't sit down. Instead, she stood by the table, gripping its edge tightly. "I've been thinking about something for a while now... ever since that day when I saw you at the café. And that night."

Ian's brow knitted in confusion. "The café?"

"Yes." She took a steadying breath. "With Sofea." The weight of saying her name out loud seemed to fill the room. "It's been eating at me ever since. I need to know...who is she, Ian? Why didn't you ever tell me about her? And that Charity Gala Night, she was there."

Ian's eyes flickered, a brief moment of surprise before he masked it. "Sofea?" he asked, though his voice betrayed him.

"Yes. I saw how you looked at her." Isabella's voice trembled slightly. "You looked... different. Like you were somewhere else entirely. And about Sofea, I know her from Niel. I asked him who she was."

Ian's expression softened with regret. He took a step closer but stopped just short of reaching for her. "Bella," he began carefully, "I can see how that might have hurt you. I didn't mean for it to come across that way. And I'm sorry for not telling you about her, about the meeting at the café. You should have told me you saw us, love."

Isabella's chest tightened, her hands clenching the edge of the table harder. "I didn't know how," she said, her voice rising. "I didn't want to seem like I didn't trust you. I didn't want to accuse you of something if it wasn't there. But now..." She trailed off, her voice breaking. "Now I don't know what to think. I just need you to tell me the truth."

Ian took a deep breath, clearly searching for the right words. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Isabella recognized as his way of buying time when he didn't know how to respond. "Look, I get why you're upset," he said, his voice low. "I should have told you about seeing Sofea when it happened. But it wasn't planned. She just... showed up. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you."

Isabella's heart pounded, her voice trembling as she spoke. "But why didn't you tell me? You could have mentioned it that day, or the next, or any time after. Instead, I had to see it for myself."

Isabella swallowed hard, pressing on. "Put that aside, During the gala night. The way you looked at her. There's something there. It's not even that she's here again—it's that I feel like you're here, but not fully. You're with me, but part of you is... somewhere else."

Ian's face tightened as he considered her words. Trying to put his words in the best way possible, he sighed. "I admit, seeing Sofea stirred up some old memories, yes. But that's all they are—memories. She's part of my past, and I want to leave her there."

"Then why is she here now?" Isabella's voice broke. "Why was she calling you last night? Why did you lie saying it was a client?"

Ian sighed, his voice low. "She wanted to talk about an old business project. She still sees me as a friend, Bella. And while I should have mentioned her, I didn't want you to feel like there was anything to worry about. I didn't think it was worth bringing up because, in my mind, it didn't matter. Sofea is part of my past. I didn't want you to feel like she was a threat, because she's not."

Isabella felt a tear slip down her cheek. "But she feels like a threat, Ian. It just doesn't feel that way. You kept things from me, Ian, even if it was just to 'protect' me." She searched his face, hoping for the reassurance that was eluding her. "I need to know that I'm not just someone you care about, but the one you choose, even when your past shows up unexpectedly."

Ian finally closed the gap between them, gently taking her hands in his. His voice was tender, his gaze pleading for her to understand. "Isabella, there's nothing going on with Sofea. I swear. When she came back, it stirred up old memories, yes. But that's all they are—memories. You're the one I love, the one I want to build my life with."

Isabella searched his face for any hint of dishonesty, but all she saw was the Ian she had fallen in love with—the man who had always been open and kind, the man who had never given her a reason to doubt him. Until now.

Tears keep falling down her face like a broken faucet, her chest heaving with a mixture of relief and lingering fear. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Ian. I want to trust you, but this hurt me. Keeping things from me, even if it was to protect me—it broke my trust."

Ian's expression softened with regret. He wiped away her tears with his thumb, his voice gentle and sincere. "I'm sorry, Isabella. I never wanted to hurt you. I should have been honest from the beginning. I promise, from now on, no more secrets. No more hiding anything, even the little things. You deserve better."

Isabella nodded, her heart aching as she realized how much she wanted to believe him. But trust, once broken, wasn't so easily mended. "It's going to take time, Ian. To trust again. I need you to understand that."

"I do," Ian whispered, pulling her into a tender embrace. "And I'll give you all the time you need. I'll do whatever it takes to make this right," he promised, his voice soft. "And I'll prove that you're the only one in my life who matters now."

They stood there in silence, holding each other as the morning light washed over them. For now, the tension had eased, but Isabella knew this was just the beginning. Love wasn't always easy, and neither was trust. But if they both tried, perhaps there was a chance to mend what had been strained.

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. The storm inside her had calmed, but the sky was still overcast. It would take time for the clouds to part completely, but for now, they had taken the first step. Together.

In his arms, she felt a tentative peace—a reminder of the man she loved, and the hope that he would be worth the risk.

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