Betrayed by love

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