He Wanted Her, He Lost Me, and I Never Looked Back

Finally, Serafina’s mask fell away completely, revealing the raw, unmasked truth beneath the polite façade she had worn for weeks.

“You’ve always had feelings for him, haven’t you?” I asked, my voice calm, even, but heavy with the weight of years spent swallowing frustration and resentment. Every syllable carried the bitterness of being sidelined in a game I had once believed we played together.

Serafina met my gaze without hesitation, her poise radiating confidence, as if daring me to challenge her.

“Well,” she began lightly, tilting her head in that insufferably self-assured way of hers, “I’ve always considered him a friend, someone I grew up with, someone close. But after all that’s happened these past few days… I think my feelings may have shifted. Maybe it’s more than friendship now.”

I let out a scoff that I tried to hide behind a neutral expression.

“Love isn’t a crime, is it?” she continued, her tone deceptively casual, as if fate had simply placed her in this position. “Even if you’re still involved with him, there’s no guarantee that things will last, that you’ll be the one standing beside him forever. So… why not let me have him now?”

I couldn’t help the humorless snort that escaped me.

At last, she was honest. No games, no careful façade. Just pure, unfiltered selfishness, elegantly wrapped in sweet words.

“Interesting,” I murmured, a small, almost amused smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “I was actually considering letting go myself. Be my guest. Take him. He’s clearly yours type—nothing more, nothing less.”

Her confident smile flickered ever so slightly, a fraction of uncertainty, but I offered her no time to recover.

“However,” I added smoothly, tilting my head in deliberate, measured calm, “I make my own choices, too. My clients, my work. And you’ll need someone else to capture your wedding. I won’t be part of your big day.”

I didn’t wait for her to respond. I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving her frozen, words stuck halfway out of her mouth, speechless.

---

After everything Marcello had done earlier that morning, the thought of returning to the apartment filled me with hesitation. I had even gone so far as to block his number. Serafina’s words had confirmed what I had already known in my heart—I had no reason to linger in that space any longer. Only seven days remained before I left the city for Melbourne, and most of my belongings were either packed or sent ahead. The apartment was little more than a temporary storage space now, holding only the absolute essentials.

That evening, I decided to head back to my mother’s house.

When she opened the door and saw me standing there with my bags in hand, the initial shock on her face softened almost immediately, replaced by a warm, welcoming smile that seemed to melt away months of tension.

“I missed you,” I whispered, stepping forward to wrap her in a tight, lingering embrace. “Can I stay with you until I leave for Melbourne?”

Her arms enveloped me firmly, grounding me. “Of course, darling. You’ll always be my little girl, no matter how far you go.”

Her warmth, her gentle voice, reminded me of something I had long neglected—the need for comfort, for security. Since college, I had insisted I was independent, self-sufficient. Yet here I was, seeking refuge in my mother’s embrace, craving the safety I had pretended I didn’t need.

The next morning, as we sat over breakfast, I finally voiced my plans.

“I’m going to start over, Mom. A new identity. I might even take your last name while I’m at it. Is that okay?”

She listened quietly, her gaze soft and understanding. When I finished, she simply smiled, nodding without hesitation.

“If this is what you’ve truly decided, I won’t question it,” she said gently, her tone steady and comforting.

“Thanks, Mom,” I murmured, feeling the weight of her unwavering support settle over me like armor.

---

Three days later, my mother had to leave on a sudden business trip.

“Since you’re here, can you stay and keep an eye on things while I’m away?” she asked, sipping her coffee casually. “The housekeeper will be here, but I need someone to feed the dogs and watch over the house.”

Her two tiny, energetic terriers yipped and bounded around, spoiled and mischievous. I laughed softly.

“Of course, Mom. I’ve got it covered,” I replied.

She nodded, satisfied, then added another request, her voice quieter this time. “Also… I need your help relocating your father’s grave.”

I froze, taken aback by the sudden weight of her words.

“The cemetery is being renovated,” she explained. “I thought it would be better to move him to a larger plot, somewhere more central in the city.”

I hesitated, considering my plans for Melbourne. Originally, I had intended to stay there for only a year, but perhaps I could settle long-term, make it my new base.

“Should we move him to Melbourne, then?” I asked cautiously, unsure if it would feel right.

My mother reached over, squeezing my hand gently. “No, sweetheart. This is where he was born, where his life began. He would have wanted to stay here. If you miss him, you can always come back.”

I nodded, a bittersweet heaviness settling in my chest.

After dropping her off at the airport, I drove straight to my father’s gravesite. I carefully gathered his urn, framed photos, and the small keepsakes left behind, cradling them like fragile treasures. Then, with my mother’s car, I decided to swing by the apartment one last time to retrieve the few remaining items I hadn’t sent ahead. I wanted him to see the place I had called home during college, even if only in memory.

But as soon as I opened the apartment door, I froze.

Marcello and Serafina were there.

Marcello’s eyes widened the instant they landed on me. He stepped forward, curiosity and something more flashing across his features.

“Isabelle… where have you been staying these past few days? Your room’s empty. What does this mean?”

I shrugged casually, my tone carefully detached. “Oh, I heard from Serafina that you two have already set a wedding date. I guess it’s about time I moved out, isn’t it?”

Marcello whirled toward Serafina, confusion and alarm crossing his face.

Serafina dropped her gaze immediately, putting on the mask of innocence. “Sorry, Marcello. My butler was planning to hire her as our wedding photographer. Maybe that’s how Isabelle found out.” She turned back to me, smiling apologetically, her voice sugary and calculated. “But I already told Isabelle—it’s all just an act, nothing real.”

I smirked internally. So this was the web of lies they had spun—perfectly synchronized deceit.

Marcello exhaled sharply and turned back to me, frustration written all over him. “Isabelle… I’ve explained. Everything is a charade. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I said innocently, tilting my head. “That’s exactly why I made it easy for you to pretend. Imagine if your parents had walked in and seen you still living here. What chaos that would have caused.”

Marcello ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Isabelle, my parents would never come here. I wouldn’t allow it. What more do you need from me?”

His desperation bordered on absurdity.

“Right now,” he continued, trying to regain control, “Serafina and I are figuring out a way out of this arranged union. Can you… just calm down?”

Serafina seized the moment, stepping forward with honeyed words dripping with manipulation.

“That’s right, Isabelle. We’ve even considered going abroad with you,” she said, eyes glinting with faux sincerity. “Then you could marry Marcello in secret, without his parents ever knowing.”

I blinked, incredulous.

“We?” I asked, voice flat, dark with disbelief.

Marcello jumped in, as if rehearsed. “Yes. The three of us. My parents will think I married Serafina, but in truth… it will be you.”

I let out a humorless chuckle, the corners of my mouth twitching.

“The three of us, huh?” I repeated, voice laced with mockery. “How… convenient.”

Serafina’s confidence faltered, replaced with theatrical desperation. She fell to her knees, clutching my hand with an exaggerated grip.

“Isabelle… what about me?” she whimpered, her tone thick with calculated distress. “My parents would be furious. I’d have nowhere to go.”

As she spoke, she shook my arm deliberately, her grip tight.

I yanked my hand back instinctively. The urn I had been holding slipped from my grasp, falling with a soft but jarring thud.