Chess Move, No Remorse

I sat in a forgotten corner of the room, cradling a bowl of soup, a silent observer to the symphony of laughter that filled the air. They were all chattering away in fluent French, toasting to Isabelle and Jaspers future wedding. No one even glanced at me, her actual boyfriend, hidden in the shadows.

Id secretly poured years into mastering four languages, all for thisto finally fit in. But it was a fool's errand. The PhDs and art scholars, all back from their stints abroad, looked at me with the barely-veiled condescension they reserved for someone with a community college education.

Isabelle, ever the picture of grace, just smiled. She neither confirmed nor denied the talk of wedding dates, accepting their blessings with a placid elegance.

I set my bowl down, the soup untouched. Standing up, I walked out of the room and pulled out my phone.

"Anna," I said when she picked up. "Set me up on one of those blind dates back home. I'm done."

After ending the call with my sister, I booked a red-eye flight back to Paris.

It was two a.m. and the apartment was dark. Isabelle still wasnt home.

A news alert lit up my phone screen. The renowned philanthropist Arthur Lockwood Sr. had passed away, with half of his massive estate being donated to charity. The comments section was flooded with messages of grief for the business mogul who had given so much back.

My father.

A lump formed in my throat, my vision blurring with tears as I remembered the last time I saw him.

Id been too late. By the time I rushed to the hospital, he was gone.

"His heart was always weak, you know that," my sister Anna had told me, her own eyes red-rimmed with a grief laced with guilt. "But he was too proud. He hid it from everyone." She choked back a sob. "He was so disappointed... that he didn't get to see you one last time. That he never saw you settle down."

I hung my head, a tidal wave of shame and regret crashing over me.

"Luke," she said softly, "I know this is hard, but it's the Lockwood legacy. Dad always said you were the most gifted of us all. He was heartbroken when you left for Paris, but now... you're the only one who can..." Her voice trailed off. "Just think about it, Luke. Please."

My father had two final wishes: for me to take the reins of the family empire, and to see me build a family of my own.

I had begged Isabelle to come home with me, just once, so my father could pass on with peace of mind.

"Isabelle, please, just this once..."

But she had already been pulling on her coat, her expression cold. "Luke, theres a time and place for your drama! Jasper is drunk and it's freezing outside. He's all alone!"

She ripped her hand from my grasp and slammed the door behind her.

But Jasper wasn't alone. He had Cassie, their mutual best friend of many years, right there with him.

Later that night, I saw Cassies new post.

A picture of Jasper, looking wistfully into the distance. The caption read: Some loves will cross any distance. Makes a single girl like me so incredibly jealous!

In that moment, the last of my denial crumbled. I was done making excuses for her. I was done, period.

I booked my return flight and started packing.

The click of the lock broke the silence. Isabelle stepped inside, elegant as ever in a black trench coat. "You're back?" she asked, a little surprised. "Why are you still up?" Her eyes narrowed, taking in the boxes around me.

"Just packing up some extra stuff to ship home," I lied smoothly.

She nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Well, it's late. You should get some rest. I can finish this last bit."

No interrogation. No suspicion. My quiet compliance was so out of character that a small frown creased her brow.

Just then, her phone shattered the quiet. Jasper's drunken, sobbing voice crackled through the speaker. "Isabelle... can you come? Please... I don't think... I don't think I can make it through the night."

Her voice instantly softened into a gentle, soothing tone I had rarely heard directed at me. "You just stay put, okay? I'm always here for you. Don't be scared." She hung up and turned to me, her expression a mask of apology. "It's his depression, Luke. He's been drinking..."

"You know how it is when an episode hits," she continued, her voice heavy with meaning. "Someone has to be there, or else..."

"I know," I cut her off, my voice flat.

Isabelle flinched, instinctively tugging down the sleeve of her coat to cover the faint, silvery scars on her wrist.

Oh, yes. How could I forget?

When her own depression had pulled her into the abyss, I was the one who held her, who weathered the storms, who painstakingly guided her back to the light.

"You know," she began, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, "you asked me about coming home with you. After my competition abroad, I should have some free time." She looked at my calm face, and a strange sense of panic seemed to well up inside her. "And... I'm ready to tell my friends about us. To make it official."

I just nodded. I had waited years to hear those words, for her to finally acknowledge me. And now, they came only when I was already walking out the door.

This whole mess needed a clean ending. This could be ita final, formal farewell to the years we'd spent in this limbo.

"Luke... why are you dressed like that?"

"Is there a problem?" I asked, my gaze level.

"No... it's just... that coat looks incredible on you." She seemed dazed. In front of her friends, I had always worn stiff, formal suits, earning me their snide remarks about looking like an insurance salesman.

Perhaps from staying up all night with Jasper, Isabelle looked exhausted, and a deep, genuine apology was etched on her face. "That brand... it really suits you," she said. "We should buy you a few more when we get back."

"Sure," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion.

Something about me had changed, and she could feel it, even if she couldn't name it.

Jasper and his friends were already waiting by the door to the private room, their faces wreathed in smiles for Isabelle. Once we were all seated, the conversation took off, a whirlwind of artistic theory, cultural critiques, and emotional expression. Inevitably, it circled back to Isabelle and Jasper.

"Jasper has waited so many years for you," Cassie said, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looked at Isabelle. "You two were always the golden couple in our eyes."

"A true match made in heaven," another chimed in.

Jasper sighed dramatically. "Isabelle... already has a boyfriend. It seems I was too late."

"Not at all!" Cassie jumped in. "We all know who she really cares about." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough for the table to hear. "The guy she's with is just a cheap knock-off. He's not one of us."

"Cassie, isn't that a bit harsh?" someone cautioned.

"It's the truth!" she retorted. "Everyone knows Isabelle was crazy about Jasper. She would have done anything for him... If Luke hadn't swooped in when she was vulnerable, they'd be back together by now. She's never forgotten Jasper. Luke is just a placeholder, a substitute." She leaned in, her eyes gleaming. "You'll see. He's a total copycat. He even dresses like Jasper, pretends to like the same things."

But when I walked in, a hush fell over the room.

The man standing before them was not the awkward imitation they'd imagined. He was composed, handsome, with a quiet confidence that was the polar opposite of Jasper's curated, brooding artist persona.

The atmosphere thickened with an awkward silence. I simply smiled at the stunned faces and offered a polite greeting.

Someone muttered under their breath, "He looks nothing like him."

Jasper recovered first, his smile fixed as he walked to Isabelle's side. "Isabelle, congratulations on winning the Top Artist prize again. Won't you tell us about your masterpiece?" He pointedly ignored me, drawing Isabelle and the others into a lively discussion.

She spoke of her inspiration, of her journey over the years, and with every word, Jasper was there to build on her thoughts, to finish her sentences. They were a perfect duet, a symphony of shared understanding. A true power couple.

Then, Cassie switched to French. "So, when's the wedding?"

All eyes turned to me, a sea of knowing smirks. The conversation continued, a fluid stream of French that was meant to exclude me. Jasper graciously accepted their congratulations, and when I glanced at Isabelle, she said nothing to correct them. She let them believe it.

I sighed and quietly excused myself from the table. Cassie shot me a look of pure contempt. The community college guy wouldn't understand a word of French, she thought.

But she didn't know. To break into her world, to understand the woman I loved, I had taught myself four languages. This wasn't a challenge. It was a confirmation.

Listening to the renewed burst of laughter from inside the private room, I dialed the number in my phone.

"Anna, I'm in. I'll come back and take over everything."

This is a premium chapter. Unlock to continue reading.

The joy in my sisters voice was unmistakable. "Luke, I'm so glad to hear you say that. Mom and I have been hoping... you were always Dad's pride and joy, you know." Her voice softened. "Whatever happens, we just want you to be happy."

At last, her wandering brother had found his way home.

"I'll need a month, though," I said. "I have to wrap things up here."

"And your girlfriend?" Anna asked, a note of caution in her voice. "Is she coming with you?"

The mention of Isabelle sent a pang through my chest. "Anna," I said, my voice heavy. "We're breaking up."

"I'm going to take Dad's legacy and build it into something even greater. I won't let it die with our generation."

My sister sighed on the other end of the line. "Luke, she wouldn't even come home with you to see Dad one last time. A woman like that... you're better off without her. When you get back, we'll find you someone worthy of you." Her voice was fierce with love. "If you're hurting, you come home. You'll always be a Morgan, kid."

"Thanks, Anna." I fought back the tears. No matter what, my family would always be my anchor.

Back at the table, Isabelles eyes kept darting to my empty chair. A strange anxiety began to gnaw at her. What was wrong with Luke? Ever since hed come back from his trip, he hadn't clung to her, hadn't argued with her. His silence, his easy-going nature... it was more unsettling than his most demanding tantrums.

Agitated, Isabelle started drinking, downing one glass of wine after another.

When I returned to the room, she was completely drunk. I moved to help her up, but she shoved me away with surprising strength.

"I don't wanna go home!" she slurred, her eyes finding Jasper across the room. "Jasper... why did you leave me? Don't go, Jasper... don't leave me again."

She clung to him like a lost child, her eyes glistening with tears. The rest of the table suddenly found their shoes very interesting, a collective wave of awkwardness washing over them.

Jasper shot me a look of triumphant pity. "Mr. Lockwood, my apologies," he said, his voice oozing false concern. "Isabelle seems to be in a state... I'm afraid..."

"Then I'll leave her in your care, Mr. Chambers," I said, my tone perfectly even as I stepped back.

"Luke, are you even a man?" Cassie spat, her eyes blazing with fury.

"You're her best friend, aren't you?" I replied coolly, my gaze falling on Isabelle, who was still clinging to Jasper for dear life. Without another word, I turned and walked away.

The farewell dinner was over.

Back at the apartment, I moved with cold efficiency, erasing every trace of our life together. After a moment's hesitation, I opened the door to her studio.

The room was filled with stacks of sketches, countless studies of a womans silhouette.

With a heavy sigh, I sat down at the easel and dug out a faded, time-worn sketch from the bottom of a portfolio. It was the one I had drawn the day I first met Isabelle, a quick impression I'd accidentally dropped as I left.

She had found it, kept it. It had become the wellspring of her inspiration.

I picked up a piece of charcoal, and with a final, steady stroke, I finished the drawing, adding the depth and color it had lacked for all these years.