Behind Every Heartbeat Lies Love

Chapter 1

Isabelle Chatham never quite understood why everyone thought she and Alden Sinclair should be more than just childhood friends. The undeniable kindness he showed her often led others to assume there was something deeper between them, yet they remained firmly in the realm of platonic companionship.
From middle school until now, Alden had always been there for her. He’d wake up early every day to buy her breakfast and cycle her to school. His devotion was perhaps best illustrated one fateful afternoon when he risked everything to save her from an accident, resulting in a severe crash that forced him to take a year off from school. Wherever she was, he was never far behind.
Even after moving north for work, they lived across the hall from each other; he took care of everything, managing both big and small issues that popped up. Isabelle often thought it would be so much easier to just live together and save on rent, but Alden was staunchly opposed to that idea, insisting on keeping things as they were.
The most perplexing aspect of their relationship was that Isabelle had gone through seven breakups in the span of time they had known each other. And through each heartbreak, Alden was always there—listening to her sorrows, picking up the pieces. Now, as she gazed at him, all the little moments they shared came flooding back, and suddenly, she felt the stirrings of something more than friendship.
What if it was all too late? What if she had been so foolish in trying to set him up with her friend instead of realizing what was right in front of her? She couldn't help but wonder: was there still a chance for her to change that narrative?

Chapter 2

The chill of early spring hung in the air, and a light drizzle tapped against the window. Isabelle Chatham sat in the corner of a cozy restaurant, peering outside, her heart aflutter with excitement.
She glanced down at the concert tickets clutched in her hand—tickets to a symphony she had eagerly anticipated. It was the first time this renowned orchestra was performing at Eagle's Crest, and after much effort, she had scored excellent seats.
Today marked two months since she started dating Thomas the Miller, a milestone worth celebrating. She chose this charming restaurant for the occasion, filled with romantic candlelight and soft classical melodies, and a menu of exquisite dishes that she hoped would make their night unforgettable.
At last, she was about to break the two-month barrier...
As she thought of how to surprise her boyfriend, Thomas the Miller walked in from the entrance. Isabelle’s smile faltered as she noticed he wasn’t alone.
“Eleanor the Scribe?” she blurted, recognizing the younger woman trailing behind him.
“Uh…seni…senior…” Eleanor the Scribe stammered, her eyes red and puffy, as if she had just finished crying.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Isabelle rushed over, gently squeezing Eleanor's shoulder, before turning her gaze to Thomas. “Did you bump into her outside?”
Eleanor the Scribe was someone Isabelle had always looked after, an earnest mentee she had stayed close with even after graduation, and she had introduced Thomas into her life, so he knew Eleanor.
“Um... well…” Thomas’s expression was strange as he took a seat, avoiding eye contact with Isabelle.
In a sudden twist of anxiety, Isabelle glanced from Eleanor’s tear-streaked face to Thomas’s guilty demeanor, and an ominous feeling twisted in her stomach.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” she suggested as she ushered them to their seats, internally pleading this couldn’t be happening.
To her shock, Thomas didn’t choose the seat beside her. Instead, he sat directly across from her, next to Eleanor.
“I’m... really sorry, Chui,” Thomas said abruptly, lowering his head as he settled in.
Isabelle’s eyes widened in disbelief, repeating silently to herself—no, this can't be happening!
“It’s not your fault! Being with you was so comforting... but I realized, I’m better suited for Eleanor... we’re just meant to be!”
Eleanor let out a sob, her gentle nature bubble over. She had always appreciated Isabelle’s kindness and never wanted to hurt her like this... but love had crept up unexpectedly.
“You told me I like stability, to feel needed... you were right,” Thomas stared back at her, his eyes heavy with guilt. “But I found myself falling for Eleanor...”
Everything spun wildly as Isabelle struggled to comprehend the betrayal—a cruel twist of fate!
The eighth betrayal!
Her eighth boyfriend had opted for another woman he deemed “more compatible.” And now their relationship was reduced to an irreplaceable friendship.
Isabelle stood abruptly, clutching her purse tightly as she hastily gathered her belongings, her breath hitching with despair.
“Isabelle!” Thomas exclaimed, scrambling to reach for her.
She turned to face her “ex” and the equally distressed girl beside him, her throat tight with emotional pain.
“Wishing you both happiness… stay in touch.” It felt surreal; this was the eighth time she found herself saying those exact words.
Goodness! Was Isabelle Chatham destined to forever play the supporting role in someone else’s love story?
When would it finally be her turn to be the heroine in her own romantic tale?

Chapter 3

Isabelle Chatham barely bothered to open her umbrella as she walked through the chilly drizzle, arms crossed tightly against her chest in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. The biting wind couldn’t compare to the chill deep inside her heart.
Why was this happening? Why was it that every boyfriend she had seemed to find someone “better suited” to him just two months into their relationship? Was she really that unfit? After all, she was the one they chased after relentlessly in the beginning.
Her social life was thriving, filled with friends from all over. However, when it came to romance, it seemingly fell apart.
What was it about her that was flawed?
Each time she entered a new relationship, she poured herself into it, indulging in deep conversations with her boyfriends, even offering her wisdom as a sort of emotional guide. But inevitably, after their soul-searching discussions, they’d realize they were meant for someone else—someone who was never her.
The first seven boyfriends each had their version of the same script: they were grateful she helped them discover their true selves and their ideal partner, but they felt remorse for leaving her behind, not wanting to lose her friendship.
These seven exes marched down the aisle with their new brides, and here she was, invited to their weddings, either as a bridesmaid or perhaps even the one helping to set them up.
It was exhausting; this whole dating thing was wearing her out.
Why did each of her hopeful romances wither away at the very start?
She was the one left heartbroken, yet somehow she ended up orchestrating happiness for others.
Maybe she should seek a guy who was serious about marriage right from the start. It would be ideal if they got engaged immediately to prevent him from slipping away too.
Could her misfortunes in love be karma from a past life? Maybe that was why she could never find a successful romance in this life, relegated to the role of a supporting character in everyone else’s love stories, repeatedly facilitating their happily-ever-afters.
No matter the reason, she was simply worn out.
The elevator dinged at the eighteenth floor, and Isabelle stood in front of her door but didn’t bother to pull out her keys. Instead, she rang the doorbell of the apartment across the hall.
Footsteps hurried across the room, and when the door opened, a tall man peered out, his expression skeptical.
“No way,” Alden Sinclair said as he swung the door wide, “please don’t tell me this is your eighth time coming here…”
“They haven’t tied the knot yet, so it doesn’t count,” Isabelle shot him a glare before stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
Alden shook his head as he closed the door behind her. “So, Thomas really is with someone else. Who is it?”
“Eleanor the Scribe,” Isabelle said, tossing her purse aside and flopping dramatically onto the couch.
“Eleanor the Scribe,” Alden echoed, surprised. That was quite the match.
Lying on the couch, Isabelle looked at him, the sadness etched across her face. It was in front of Alden—the boy next door—that she allowed her real emotions to surface.
Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
“I feel cursed,” she said, her voice pained as she lay on his couch yet again.
Her delicate hand, once covering her forehead, now slid down to conceal her weeping eyes. Losing love felt like having her heart slashed repeatedly, and her heart… it must be in tatters by now.
Alden stood in the entryway. Only when Isabelle wasn’t looking could he gaze at the woman he had loved for so long but had never dared to cross that invisible line with.
“I need a drink…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” he replied softly; he always understood exactly what she wanted and needed.
After every breakup, she would come running to his place, crumpled up on his couch, crying into his shoulders.
As he headed to the kitchen to get her a cold beer and whip up some snacks, he reflected on how she continued to let love slip away, how she kept getting hurt, wondering just how long it would take for her to realize that a good man had been standing right by her side all along.

Chapter 4

Isabelle Chatham was undeniably stunning, her beauty and charming demeanor drawing people to her like moths to a flame. With a warm smile and an approachable personality, it was easy for anyone to fall in love with her.
Because of this, she seemed like a magnet, attracting countless friends and admirers. However, her relationships always fizzled out after just two months, leaving her to hand her boyfriend over to someone else.
Alden Sinclair, her childhood friend, knew her better than anyone else. Isabelle had a heart that was too big for her own good, acting like a mentor who could converse with anyone and help them navigate their pains and needs. Yet, in the end, these enlightened men would always choose to move on to other women.
Isabelle found herself crying over men who weren’t worth her tears. Didn't she realize there was another possibility right in front of her?
He had been waiting for over a decade. Why had she never considered him?
Who could possibly understand her better than he did? Who could empathize with her joys and sorrows, or take care of her every need with such devotion?
Alden never doubted that no one could give to Isabelle what he had given her, yet she had never noticed.
To her, they were just childhood friends—familiar, close, but without deeper meaning.
Alden sighed quietly in the kitchen. He was exhausted. No matter how broad his shoulders were or how much he loved her, he couldn’t bear the thought of the woman he adored spending time with other men, sharing sweet moments and imagining her gentle side with someone else.
Every time Isabelle spoke about her latest relationship, his heart felt like it was being sliced open. He envied every man who embraced her and despised those who had kissed her lips. Sometimes, dark thoughts of revenge danced in his mind against those who could touch her.
Now in his thirties, after fifteen years of holding onto a crush, he knew it was time to face reality. He shouldn’t squander any more time hoping for a love that seemed hopelessly out of reach.
As he set his wine glass down on the coffee table, Isabelle eagerly grabbed a can of beer and gulped it down. Alden sat beside her quietly, familiar with her habit of drowning her sorrows in alcohol after a breakup.
“Azzy, you’re the best. You’ve always been there for me,” Isabelle said, handing him another beer. “You’re the only one who won’t leave.”
Alden’s heart skipped a beat as he took the beer from her, clutching it tightly. A thought flashed through his mind—it might be the perfect moment.
To cross that line, right here, right now.
“So you should pick me as your boyfriend,” he said half-jokingly, feeling his heart race.
Isabelle paused, glancing at him, momentarily mistaking his seriousness for a joke.
“Stop joking,” she replied, forcing a smile as she took another swig.
Last time, he had been brushed off with "That's enough." The time before that, she had laughed it off, saying he was being ridiculous. The responses varied, but the end result was always the same.
They were just too close.
Growing up, they had shared the same neighborhood, attended the same elementary and middle schools. Although they attended different high schools, they still lived in the same area. They had been inseparable since childhood, a perfect pair of lifelong friends.
Yet, that familiarity bound him too tightly; to Isabelle, he would always be just a friend.
Now living in the city, they had rented apartments in the same building, and her innocent suggestion to share an apartment stung him deeply.
Could she truly be unaware of his feelings? Each time they met, he repressed the urge to pull her into an embrace, yet she nonchalantly proposed they "cohabitate."
If she strolled around her apartment in loose-fitting clothes, Alden feared he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. In a moment of impulse, he might just pull her close, and then he would lose her forever.

Chapter 5

He just never thought that maybe he would never get her at all…
“What are you going to do about Thomas the Miller and the others?” Alden gently ran his fingers through her hair, a warm consolation.
“What can I do? I just have to take it easy,” she said, curling her legs up and resting her chin on her knees. “I’m just so tired.”
This cycle had worn her out completely.
Perhaps she was simply no longer cut out for love; maybe she could consider a career as a matchmaker instead.
“Oh, you,” Alden Sinclair sighed. He had already used up all his comforting words—this was the eighth time. What new advice could he possibly give? “Maybe you should consider helping guide my soul instead; I’m the one who actually needs it.”
Isabelle Chatham was the ultimate healing guru; every man who came near her seemed to find their wings and soar—only to fly off with someone else.
So why didn’t she help him out, take a close look at who was the right woman for him?
“You,” Isabelle raised an eyebrow. Why would Alden need guidance? He had always been a heartthrob; his girlfriends must have been like a steady flow of new recruits…
Wait a second. Isabelle took a good, hard look at the man she had known for twenty-seven years.
Really, Alden Sinclair had striking features: deep-set eyes below those thick brows, a straight nose, and thin lips that gave him an impressively cool demeanor. Others often labeled him as the "cool guy."
But beneath that cool exterior, she knew Alden was thoughtful and caring. Now a rising indoor designer, he was quite the catch… Wow, Isabelle blinked, realizing that the boy she had grown up with was now a fully grown man.
Counting with her fingers, she gasped, realizing Alden had just turned thirty.
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
Alden almost choked on his drink, coughing several times, wiping the rim of his glass as he stared at her in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean you; you’ve got it all going for you. Why are you still single?”
Since college, he seemed to have only dated two girls. Were all the women in the world blind? Who would pass up a golden bachelor like him?
Because of you. Alden longed to shout. If it hadn’t been for Isabelle Chatham, he would have been dating someone else ages ago.
He worried about her—worried that she didn’t have anyone to take care of her, that she couldn’t come and go freely at his place, worried that when she was feeling down, no one would be there for her, and that on weekends, they couldn’t shop for everyday supplies together.
He worried about all these unnecessary things, knowing full well he shouldn’t let anything interfere with their normal lives.
“What’s your type of girl?” she questioned, realizing she hadn’t kept up with her friend's love life. “How old? Any special requirements?”
“Lady, maybe you should sort out your own issues first. Don’t get distracted with mine.”
Isabelle simply smiled. She really didn’t want to ruin herself any further.
“I might not be cut out for dating,” she chuckled ruefully.
“Seriously, why don’t you think about me?” Alden Sinclair playfully asked again.
Think about him? Isabelle shot him a glance. The possibility with Alden…
She felt a wave of dizziness; perhaps she had drunk too much, and it was just too much to focus on anything right now.
“Fine, you like smart girls, they should be decent-looking, and they have to have something to say…” She forced herself to concentrate, analyzing her best friend’s preferences. “They also need to be cheerful and lively, and…”
That’s you. Alden Sinclair gazed intently at Isabelle Chatham. Why couldn’t she see that she was exactly the girl he wanted?
He painfully closed his eyes, knowing all too well the suffering of unrequited love.
“Hey, Alden.” She leaned closer, practically putting her face next to his. “What do you think about Fiona of the Glen?”
Fiona of the Glen was Isabelle's closest high school friend. They had known each other for ten years, their bond akin to that of sisters, inseparable and tight-knit.

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