Chapter 14 - London Calling
The apartment was suffocatingly quiet after Elena left. The ticking of a nonexistent clock seemed to echo in Maya’s ears. She stood motionless in the center of the empty living room, the expensive silk of the wedding dress feeling heavier than lead.
"London," Maya whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "He went to London."
"He's running just like you used to," Corey said softly, stepping closer to her. He reached out and gently touched her arm, his thumb tracing the skin beneath Zoe’s denim jacket. "Maya, let it go. You can't spend your whole life chasing men who leave when things get complicated. Isaiah made his choice. He boarded a plane. He ran away."
"He didn't run away, Corey," Zoe interjected sharply, stepping out from the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest. "He walked away because his fiancée openly admitted to treating him like a safety net while he was standing right behind a curtain! There is a massive difference between running and self-preservation."
Corey shot Zoe a dark, warning look. "Whose side are you on anyway? You were the one telling her to call me an hour ago!"
"I told her to call you to get closure, not to star in a tragic rom-com reboot!" Zoe fired back, her red hair catching the harsh light as she shook her head. "Maya, look at yourself. You’re standing in an empty apartment wearing a custom wedding dress designed by a man you broke, while an ex you haven't seen in three years is offering to fly you back to a city where you both failed once before. What are you actually doing?"
Maya didn't answer. She pulled away from Corey’s touch and walked slowly over to the window that looked out over the glittering Manhattan skyline. The city lights stretched out infinitely into the dark, indifferent night.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't a text from her mother. It was an email notification from an airline app.
Confirmation: One-way flight to London Heathrow, departing in four hours. Booked under the name Isaiah Vance.
May you like
Maya stared at the screen, her breath hitching in her throat. Isaiah hadn't just left; he had left a trail. Or perhaps, an invitation.
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