CHAPTER 5: The Empty Bed

I woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

For a moment, I was disoriented. The light was wrong. Too bright. Too early. I usually closed the blackout curtains before bed.

Then I remembered.

Isabella.

I turned, expecting to find her curled up beside me, dark hair spread across the pillow. Instead, I found empty sheets and the faint impression where her body had been.

Still warm.

I sat up, scanning the room. Her dress was gone. Her shoes. The small purse she'd clutched nervously when we first entered.

She'd left.

The realization hit harder than it should have. We'd been strangers. One night, just like I'd said. No strings. No expectations. This was exactly what was supposed to happen.

So why did the empty space beside me feel like a loss?

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to clear the fog of sleep and lingering whiskey. My head ached slightly—not quite a hangover, but close. Four glasses of scotch would do that.

That's when I saw it. A piece of hotel stationery on the nightstand, folded once.

I picked it up, recognizing my own handwriting on the letterhead. "The Sterling Hotel" printed in elegant script across the top.

Her message was brief:

"Thank you for last night. -Isabella"

That was it. No phone number. No last name. No "let's do this again."

Just thank you and a name I suspected wasn't even real.

I read it three times, as if repetition would reveal hidden meaning in those seven words.

It wouldn't.

I set the note down carefully, then picked it up again. Folded it. Unfolded it. Read it a fourth time.

"Thank you for last night."

As if I'd done her some kind of favor. As if last night hadn't been the most alive I'd felt in two years.

I stood, pulling on the pants I'd discarded so carelessly last night. The bedroom still smelled like her—something floral and subtle that I hadn't noticed in the bar but that had been overwhelming when I'd buried my face in her neck.

Christ. What was wrong with me?

I walked to the window, looking out at the city bathed in early morning light. Somewhere out there, Isabella was—what? Going home? To work? Back to whatever life she'd been running from when she walked into my bar?

Did she regret it? Did she wake up mortified at what we'd done? Was that why she'd left without a word?

Or had it meant so little that she didn't think I deserved a proper goodbye?

I pressed my palm against the cool glass, trying to organize my thoughts.

Last night had been—

I didn't have words for what last night had been.

It had been two years since Sophia died. Two years of going through the motions. Two years of pretending to be Alexander Sterling, CEO, pillar of the community, devoted widower, when really I was just a shell of a man waiting for something to matter again.

And then Isabella had walked into my bar.

Young. Hurt. Defiant. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with her face and everything to do with the fire in her eyes when she said she was done being someone's second choice.

I'd wanted to protect her from whoever had put that pain in her voice.

I'd wanted to show her what she deserved.

I'd wanted—

God, I'd just wanted. For the first time in so long, I'd wanted something beyond the next board meeting or quarterly earnings report or empty evening in an empty apartment.

And now she was gone.

I picked up my phone from the nightstand. 6:47 AM. Too early to be awake after the night we'd had. Too late to catch her if I tried.

Not that I knew where to look.

Isabella. No last name. No phone number. Just a ghost of expensive perfume on my pillows and a note that said thank you.

I should let it go. Should shower and dress and go downstairs to my office and be Alexander Sterling again. Last night was an anomaly. A beautiful, perfect anomaly that was never meant to be repeated.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her.

The way she'd bitten her lip when she was nervous. The way she'd looked at me like I was someone worth seeing, not just the CEO or the widower or the dollar signs. The way she'd trembled in my arms—not from fear, but from pleasure she clearly hadn't expected to feel.

"Whatever that man told you about yourself was a lie."

I'd meant it. Every word. Whoever had been fool enough to let her go had been exactly that—a fool.

And now I was a fool too, because I'd let her slip away.

I looked at the note again. My own letterhead. Of course—she'd been a guest. Or was she still? 

The thought struck me suddenly. She'd checked in last night. Had she stayed in her room at all, or had she come straight to the bar? Did she check out already, or was she still in the hotel?

I could find out. One call to the front desk and I'd have her name. Her room number. Her credit card information. Everything.

The old Alexander Sterling—the one who built an empire by knowing everything about everyone—would have made that call in a heartbeat.

But that felt wrong. Like a violation of whatever trust we'd built last night.

She'd left without a trace because she wanted to leave without a trace. And I had to respect that, even if every instinct I had was screaming at me to find her.

I set the note down and walked to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror showed a man I barely recognized. Rumpled. Tired. But something in my eyes was different. Brighter, maybe. Less dead.

The shower was scalding hot, the way I liked it. I stood under the spray for a long time, letting it wash away the physical traces of last night.

But it couldn't wash away the memory.

Her laugh when I'd said something unexpectedly funny. Her gasp when I'd found that spot on her neck that made her melt. Her whispered "don't stop" when I'd asked if she was okay.

The way she'd fallen asleep in my arms, trustingly, like she'd known me for years instead of hours.

I'd held her while she slept, watching the rise and fall of her breath, feeling something I thought had died with Sophia.

Peace.

By the time I got out of the shower, I'd made my decision.

I would let Isabella go. She clearly wanted to move on, and I had no right to complicate her life just because one night had meant something to me. Maybe it hadn't meant the same to her. Maybe she'd already forgotten about the stranger in the hotel bar.

I would go back to my life. To Sterling Corporation. To board meetings and quarterly reports and the comfortable numbness I'd wrapped around myself like armor.

Last night had been a gift. A reminder that I was still capable of feeling something. That was enough.

It had to be enough.

I dressed in a fresh suit—I kept several in the penthouse closet—and checked my phone properly for the first time that morning.

Seven missed calls from my assistant, David. Three texts from my mother. One from James.

James. My son.

Guilt twisted in my gut. I'd spent last night with a woman young enough to be—

No. I wasn't going to think about that. Isabella was twenty-four. An adult. She'd made her own choices, and so had I. There was nothing inappropriate about what we'd done.

But still. Twenty-four. Twenty-one years younger than me.

Sophia had been my age. We'd built a life together. We'd been partners in every sense of the word.

Isabella was—

What was Isabella? A stranger. A one-night stand. A beautiful mistake.

Except she hadn't felt like a mistake.

I opened James's text.

JAMES: Dad, can we talk about the merger? I think the marketing division needs more autonomy.

Work. Safe. Familiar. The one thing I could control.

I replied: In a meeting this morning. We'll discuss this afternoon.

My mother's texts were the usual passive-aggressive concern about me working too hard and never visiting. I sent a placating response and a promise to come for dinner next week.

David's messages were all work-related. Time-sensitive but not urgent. I'd handle them from the office.

The office. Right. Back to being the CEO. Back to being in control.

I took one last look around the penthouse. At the rumpled bed where I'd held her. At the nightstand where her note still sat.

I picked up the note, folding it carefully and slipping it into my wallet. Behind my credit cards, where I wouldn't see it every time I opened my wallet but where I'd know it was there.

A reminder. A talisman. A secret.

Then I left.

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. Or maybe time just moved differently now, before and after Isabella.

My assistant, David, was waiting in my office when I arrived. Early fifties, impeccably dressed, unflappable. He'd been with me for fifteen years and knew better than to ask personal questions.

"Morning, Alex. Coffee's on your desk. The Nakamura deal needs your signature, and your nine o'clock called to reschedule."

"Thanks, David." I settled into my chair, the familiar leather conforming to my body. This was my domain. My kingdom. Everything here made sense.

"Are you alright?" David asked, pausing at the door. "You look... different."

Different. Because I'd spent one night remembering what it felt like to be human instead of a machine.

"I'm fine. Just didn't sleep well."

He nodded, unconvinced but too professional to push. "Your mother called three times yesterday. She's insisting on dinner this week."

"I know. I'll handle it."

After David left, I sat in the quiet of my office, surrounded by the trappings of success. Awards on the walls. Photos of buildings I'd developed. A framed magazine cover declaring me one of the city's most influential businessmen.

And none of it mattered.

None of it filled the empty space that Isabella had left behind.

My phone buzzed. James calling.

I answered. "James."

"Dad! About the marketing division—"

I listened to my son talk about autonomy and strategies and department restructuring. Twenty-six years old and already convinced he knew everything. When had he become so arrogant? Or had he always been that way and I'd been too busy to notice?

"We'll discuss it this afternoon," I said when he finally paused for breath. "I have to go."

"But Dad—"

"This afternoon, James."

I hung up before he could protest further.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of emails and contracts and conference calls. The familiar rhythm of business that had sustained me for two years.

But something was different now.

I kept thinking about her. Wondering where she was. What she was doing. If she was thinking about me at all.

Around noon, David brought in lunch—a salad from the place downstairs that I ate at my desk three times a week.

"The Martinez merger is moving forward," David said. "Final papers should be ready next month."

"Good." I stabbed at the salad without interest. "Anything else?"

"James stopped by earlier. Said he wants to schedule a meeting about expanding his role."

Of course he did. James was always angling for more power, more responsibility, more everything. Sometimes I wondered if I'd spoiled him too much. If Sophia's death had made me too lenient.

Sophia.

I thought about her constantly in the first year after she died. Every decision, every moment, every breath felt like a betrayal because she wasn't there to share it.

But this morning, when I'd woken up, my first thought hadn't been of Sophia.

It had been of Isabella.

And I didn't know what to do with that.

"Alex?" David's voice pulled me back. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah." I pushed the salad away, no longer pretending to eat. "Just tired."

"Maybe you should take a vacation. Somewhere quiet. You haven't taken time off since—"

"Since Sophia died. I know." I rubbed my temples. "Maybe you're right."

"I'll look into some options."

After David left, I pulled out my wallet. Looked at the note tucked behind my credit cards.

"Thank you for last night. -Isabella"

Seven words that had changed everything.

I should throw it away. Should forget about the woman with sad eyes and a beautiful smile. Should move on with my life the way she clearly had.

But I folded the note carefully and put it back in my wallet.

Just for now, I told myself. Just until the memory faded.

I'd let her go.

I had to.

But I didn't have to forget.