Holden danced with Isabelle, his movements stiff, his eyes constantly darting towards me, a lone figure by the buffet. He tried to hide it, but I could feel his gaze, a desperate pull across the crowded room. It was pathetic, this desperate attempt to balance his two worlds.

Isabelle, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. She whispered something in his ear, her eyes flashing with irritation. He stiffened, his jaw tightening. Then, she deliberately turned her back to him, swaying provocatively with another man, laughing, her hand resting intimately on his arm.

A low growl escaped Holden. His eyes, now blazing with a possessive fury, snapped from Isabelle to the man, then to me. He grabbed a champagne glass from a passing waiter and, with a violent clatter, smashed it against the wall. The music faltered, the laughter died down, replaced by stunned silence.

He stormed onto the dance floor, his face a mask of primal rage, and grabbed Isabelle's arm, yanking her away from her dance partner. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Isabelle?" he snarled, his voice dangerously low. "Have you no shame?"

Isabelle, still in shock, finally found her voice. "Shame? You bring her to my birthday party, then you criticize me? You think you can have both of us, Holden? You can't!"

His eyes, wild and unfocused, narrowed. The fragile thread of his self-control snapped. He pulled her roughly towards him, crushing his mouth against hers in a desperate, bruising kiss. Isabelle, after a moment of surprise, melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, returning the kiss with a ferocious intensity.

I watched them, the scene playing out in slow motion. My stomach churned, not with pain or jealousy, but with a profound sense of disgust. It was a grotesque display, a desperate dance of two broken souls. My heart felt like a shriveled prune, desiccated and empty. This was not love. This was a sickness.

Holden finally pulled away, his face pale, a mixture of shame and self-loathing etched on his features. He saw me then, standing by the buffet, my expression as cold and unyielding as marble. His eyes widened in horror.

"Celeste, I... I didn't mean to," he stammered, his voice choked with regret. "It was a mistake. I thought... I thought you were her." He gestured vaguely at Isabelle, a pathetic lie.

Isabelle, triumphant, scoffed. "Don't lie, Holden. You want me. You always have." She then turned to me, a venomous smirk on her face. "He wants to get back with me, Celeste. He's tired of his little placeholder."

Holden's face turned to thunder. "No, Isabelle! I don't want you! I told you, we're over!"

Isabelle's eyes filled with sudden tears, a manipulative cascade. She grabbed a steak knife from a nearby table and held it to her wrist. "Then I have nothing left to live for, Holden! I'll just end it right here!"

Holden's eyes widened in terror. "Isabelle, no! Don't be stupid!" He lunged for her, trying to wrest the knife away.

Just then, a massive crystal chandelier, precariously hanging above them, began to sway. A loud creak echoed through the hall, and then, with a deafening crash, it plunged downwards, directly towards Isabelle.

Holden, without a moment's hesitation, shoved Isabelle out of the way, shielding her with his own body. The chandelier smashed onto the marble floor, sending shards of crystal flying everywhere. Holden cried out, a sharp, choked gasp, as a heavy piece of crystal impaled his arm. Blood welled up, bright crimson against his white shirt.

Isabelle screamed, but it was a scream of fear for herself, not for him. The hall erupted in chaos. People rushed forward, gasping, shouting.

I stood there, amidst the pandemonium, my heart a stone. I felt nothing. No shock, no pity, no relief. Just a profound, chilling indifference. He had chosen her, again. Even to the point of self-sacrifice.

I turned calmly, walking away from the screaming and the chaos, my steps light, my heart unfettered. I walked out of the club, out of his life, and into the silent, waiting night.

Chapter 6

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