Already seated on the plane, Zoe glanced out the window before takeoff and whispered softly,

“Hang in there, Doctor… I’ll be back before you know it.”

That same evening, Isabela savored a glass of expensive wine in her penthouse, the crystal reflecting the cold lights of the city. Her lipstick was flawless, her skin luminous, her expression calm — but her eyes burned with an old, festering hatred.

She swirled the wine slowly, as if setting the stage for something dark and deliberate. The phone resting on the glass table began to vibrate. Isabela answered, her tone icy.

“Did you call him today?” she asked flatly, skipping any greeting.

On the other end, the doctor hesitated.

“I called this morning. He didn’t answer. I texted too… he ignored me.”

Isabela rolled her eyes.

“Obviously. He was with her,” she said with disdain. “But keep going. Text him again. Call him. Show up at his office like it’s a coincidence. Play innocent. He needs to remember you exist — and she needs to start doubt