Isabella's POV

As per the outside world, Adrian and I were just the right couple; they saw us on red carpets and in interviews while he spoke my name; they called us goals. I smiled into the camera before the red light with all pretense, locked his hand with mine for the flashguns, and topped it with hope. At this breakage, so barely held together and, if anything, seemed to widen, morning was now granting new force.
“Not very hungry this morning,” he replied, barely indicating his cup of coffee.
"Any big happenings at the recording studio?" I asked, piercingly aware of the way he paid more attention to his cuff links.
"I've got some meetings," my husband muttered. His eyes had flashed to the phone where the name Claire lit up. His face went hot, hoping to deflect my further questions to him.

"You are seeing Claire more these days." I attempted to be playful but faltered. He replied with an expression of annoyance as if talking about his footballer mate. "Silly, she's my manager, dear. Okay?"
"Since when is dawn text part of her job?"
He didn't say a word but threw me a nasty look his face could deliver, and then he looked like having a nasty attack. He stopped me from speaking. To this, I frowned.
"You're mad now?" Pondering for only a second, "Crazy, right?"
That ended our breakfast. He kissed my cheekish style while moving towards the door. Duty rather than affection. Life washed me in a vast span as I went through my chores. The house was too still. Six o'clock found me making a meager pizza. And at that point, the garlic, basil, and boiling pasta became his favorite dish. I poured the wine, lit the candles, and forced myself not to acknowledge anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing could be normal.
Eight O'clock. No Adrian yet.
Nine O'clock. In the kitchen- pasta appeared black in the unwashed pot, ready to burn.
By ten, Candles burned down and the candlesticks fell.

Another hour seemed like a neverending era. An exhausted Adrian, hidden behind the tired look shed the aroma of an undying cologne. Somehow, I took it as a relief minus the anger.
"You missed dinner," I remarked with a trembling voice that seemed to tremble harder inside. Sent forth another irritating glance at me like flaying a casual look at the dead ever-cold plates littered across the table, the non refreshed glasses. After a few staggering footsteps, he lit on a chair and took a deep breath. He grunted, "Work late."
Right on cue. I kept hearing Kate! Kate!
times without number.
"Work always runs late," I raised both my eyebrows. "An emergency meeting, another reshot scene, or caught making out with Claire?" His eyes darkened. "Don't bring her into this."
"How can I not?" I said. "She's everywhere nowadays. Calls, texts, her name on your lips more than mine."

He gave up submitting his arms in defeat and his face once more, frustrated. Isabella, you are overreacting. Claire and I ..." he caught himself before he could confess that any working ties still thrive between him and Claire.
My heart skipped a beat. "Crossed a line?"
He remained silent, capable of uttering volumes.
I laughed a sad laugh. "So you are acknowledging that something happened?"
Obviously, he equally dismissed the notion of resistance against forced words. "One mistake. One night of regret every second of. It's over. I ended it."
With the waves turning, the words spun the room out of control. "One night?" My voice shook with despair. "You took her to bed?"
Another step forward, rubbing his chest. "Isabella, listen—"
"No!" I shouted, and I pushed him. "Do not you dare say it was nothing. Do not you dare feed me that while making me keep working to try to keep our marriage together." He reached for me, but I turned my face. His expression contorted in pain. "I was stupid. I was really f****d up. It was wrong. I ended it with her, too, but she keeps calling, texting. I'm trying to make it right."

It was simply the truth, and it struck me to the core. My mind numbed, my chest ached for breath, yet even then I was barely able to stop my tears. "You disgust me, Adrian."
He curled his hands into fists, as if to discipline me and himself at the same time, his voice trembling, "I didn't want you to find out like this. I don't want to lose you."
"You already lost me," I said in a whisper.
He glanced my way, his eyes moist, mouth half open, as if to beg and thought otherwise, shaking his head. "I'd rather have you, now I understand. I possibly am taking a shower. We will talk after."

Disappearing into the bath, he left me in his shattered reality. My legs refused to hold me, so I sat down on the couch, staring ahead into nothing with a dead silence.
And then, Claire.
My throat clenched. Against every bit of self-respect I had left-and there was precious little-I picked up the phone. Then there came the new message. Almost dropped it from my hands, head awhirl with fear and anger, but for some reason I swiped the screen, briefly.
The video was not a simple accompanying message.
As I tapped it, the world spun.
Adrian's face was thrusting towards hers, mouthing small kisses over her neck with playful nibbles while his hand felt where for the first time someone other than I had been touched. Her laughter, his words that were never ever meant to say to me. I found it hard taking another breath while the phone fell from my hand to the floor.
The shower stopped suddenly, leaving me to listen to the pounding of my heart while my chest ached and my breaths grew more shallow. I picked up the phone for another look at the the husband who'd betrayed me.
When he stepped out of the bathroom in a towel gathered too low on his hips, he froze. His gaze momentarily wandered to the phone held in my hand with the paused video on its screen. His face lost some color.
"What are you doing with my phone?" The tone was cautionary; an edge of fear was mocking his persona. I held the screen as much upwards as possible, then mumbled with a voice so choked and harsh-sounding that every word rang for eternity in the room.
"Explain this."
He bit his lip (rubbing one hand through his very wet hair). "Isabella…"
"Don't you dare say my name like that," I spat, all consumed by trembling. "You lied. You swore it was over. You swore you'd be better. All this time—" I stopped, a tear falling from my cheek. "All this time, you were with her?"
Stepping closer toward her, he was desperate. "I didn't even know she taped it. She's been blackmailing me with it. This is it."
"And you let me sit here thinking I was just paranoid? You let me look like a fool whilst she had this?"
His shoulders slumped, voice breaking. "I was just trying to protect you. I laughed hollowly, bitterly. "Protect me? To the point that you have broken me and humiliated me? That is protection?"
He tried again to reach for me, but I recoiled. "I didn't want to lose you," he murmured.
"Yes, you did," I said, and the tears that had filled my eyes for so long began to roll down my cheek.

Reseñas de Betrayed by love