Chapter 6 I Can’t Compete With Her

Lyssa POV

I stare blankly at my screen, lost, forgotten, my eyes forming those tears again as my thoughts drift back to Isabella.

She’s better than me in every single way. I hate admitting it, but it’s the truth. She’s the kind of woman people write books about. Isabella Vanderbilt, yes, those Vanderbilts, comes from the richest family in America. Her dad owns half the skyscrapers in Manhattan and a couple of islands I can’t even pronounce.

Her mom is on the board of every museum and charity that matters.

Isabella grew up with private jets before breakfast and summers in the south of France. She went to boarding schools in Switzerland, then Yale for undergrad, graduated summa cum laude at twenty, and just finished her master’s in Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning at MIT last month. MIT.

The girl built an app in high school that got bought for nine figures, it was all over the media a couple of weeks ago. She’s literally a genius wrapped in Chanel.

And God, she’s beautiful in that effortless way that makes you want to scream in admiration.

Long dark hair that always looks like she just stepped out of a salon daily, green eyes that actually sparkle, and a smile that makes men forget their own names.

She speaks four languages, plays the piano like a concert pianist, and still finds time to run a foundation for girls in STEM. She’s perfect. She’s the woman Zeta always deserved.

Me? I’m just a girl trying to survive.

I can’t compete with her. I never could.

Life isn’t a bed of roses for everyone. Some people get mansions and trust funds and perfect life.

I got grief, loneliness, and a husband who never really wanted me. From the day my parents died, life has kicked me. And now, when I finally thought I had something real, something to be happy about, It’s gone.

I feel like a failure. A complete, pathetic failure.

I toss and curl up tighter under the duvet, hugging my knees to my chest. The sheets still smell like him. I hate that I love it.

I toss and turn for hours, crying quietly into my pillow until my throat hurts. I don’t know what time I finally fall asleep, but the 5 a.m. alarm rips me awake.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

My phone lights up on the nightstand.

Then a message from Mom, Mrs. Franca.

“Happy birthday to you once again my beautiful lovely daughter, I hope you had fun yesterday. Sorry we couldn’t make it to your birthday. I’ve sent a lovely gift to you, my child. It will be delivered today. Love you so much, baby.”

The ache in my heart loosened. Mom and Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Francis have been out of the country for two weeks. Some business meeting in Dubai turned into a second honeymoon for them both. They called me at midnight on my birthday, singing off-key through the phone, telling me how proud they are, how much they love me. They were the first ones to wish me a happy birthday, then grandfather was the second.

I smile through fresh tears, at the amazing thoughts and wipe my face with the back of my hand.

Then another message pops up.

Mom: How was it sweetheart? I hope Zeta took care of you properly. Y’all have fun? He spoil you good?

My fingers freeze over the keyboard.

I want to tell her everything. I want to cry to her to help me beg Zeta not to call it off. That we’re getting divorced. That his ex is back. That he didn’t even remember my birthday until I reminded him. That he spent my day with her.

But I can’t. She’ll worry. She’ll cry. She’ll fly home early and make a scene. She’s already stressed from the trip.

So I lie.

Me: Yes mom, it was one of my best birthdays. Zeta got me lots of gifts and promised to surprise me later. And I’ve got good news! I got accepted into the master’s program!! Starting next semester!!

I hit send before I can overthink it.

Mom: OH MY GOD BABY!!! I knew you would!! I’m screaming in this hotel lobby. So proud of you angel. We are coming home soon to celebrate properly. Love you endless.

Me: Love you more.

I drop the phone.

By 7 a.m., I’m finally up, trying to stay busy. I pull out my old college transcripts, recommendation letters, everything I’ll need for the university paperwork. I’m folding them neatly into a folder when the TV in my room, still on from last night, suddenly caught my attention.

“billionaire heir Zeta Francis spotted early this morning with former lover Isabella Vanderbilt.”

My stomach drops.

I turn slowly. There he is. On the channel.

Zeta in a black coat, holding Isabella’s hand as they walk into La Lumière, the new French place that just opened downtown. The one he promised to take me to on my birthday.

Media cameras swarm them.

“Mr. Zeta! Zeta! Now that your lover is back, what’s going to happen to your wife?”

“Are you and Isabella officially back together?”

“Does this mean the marriage is over?”

“Is Lyssa getting divorced?”

Zeta stops walking. His jaw tightens. He turns to the cameras, eyes cold, voice low and calm, the kind of calm that feels dangerous.

“I still love Isabella. But whatever happens next is my personal life and I’d appreciate it if you all respect our privacy.”

Then he continues to walk inside as the camera follows them.

The anchor keeps talking, but he ignores them as they enter the restaurant.

His words echoing in my head. He still loves her.

The words keep replaying in my head, over and over, like a record. He didn’t deny it or even try to pretend for media sake.

The thought only made me feel like my heart was being torn apart, as if my soul had been pulled out of my body.