Bryce didn’t meet my gaze, focusing instead on wiping his hands with a napkin. It was clear: with Lucia, he had no limits. With me, there were only restrictions. My appetite vanished completely, replaced by a bitter realization.
"You guys eat. I'm not hungry," I said abruptly, standing to leave. The pain in my injured leg flared, but I didn’t care. I needed to get out.
“Isla, wait—” Bryce followed me outside, frustration seeping into his voice. “You don’t have to make a scene over something so trivial.”
“Trivial?” I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him. “You lie, you break your own rules, and then you expect me to just swallow it all? To be okay with being second place—always?”
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “Isla, have you had enough? You’re being dramatic over nothing.”
His frustration was palpable, but it didn’t matter. I’d heard enough. Without another word, I turned my back on him and limped away, leaving both him and Lucia behind in that suffocating café.