The sixth year I gave up my family, my name, everything, to be with Marcus.

That’s when I found out I was just a stand-in for the one he could never forget.

And now, she was back.

I accepted my family’s arrangement. The marriage alliance.

The day my engagement dress arrived at the office, Marcus looked pissed. “I thought we agreed we’d get married when my career was more stable.”

I said nothing.

But when the wedding invitation arrived, Marcus finally broke.

The groom wasn't him. It was the heir to the Moretti family.

Six years with Marcus, and still no ring. But I was getting married. Just not to him.

"Mom, I'll do it. The marriage alliance."

Shock crackled in my mother's voice.

"Isabella, honey, are you sure? You were so dead set against it…"

"I've changed my mind," I cut her off, my voice so calm it felt foreign even to me. "When can we set it up?"

My mother knew me too well. She sighed. "What happened?"

I didn't answer. Last night’s scene played out in my head again—under the dim lights of an underground fight, Marcus had his arms wrapped tight around Victoria. Her head was on his chest, the two of them a painful spotlight in the crowd.

I was standing less than thirty feet away, the energy drink I’d bought for him still in my hand. He’d told me he was just going to see a friend's fight, that I didn't need to come.

Turns out his "friend" was Victoria Blair.

"Isabella?" My mother's voice pulled me back.

"Nothing happened. I just see things clearly now. The family's business is more important than my feelings."

There was a long silence on the other end. Then, "Dante, the eldest son of the Moretti family. You met him. At the charity gala three years ago…"

"I remember." I did. A tall, handsome man with deep-set eyes and the polish of a perfect gentleman. "Has he agreed to this?"

"His grandfather called yesterday." She still sounded hesitant. "Isabella, an alliance like this is for life. Once you decide…"

"I know."

Of course, I knew. But Marcus wasn't a game, either. Six years wasn't a game. And look how that turned out.

When I got back to the apartment, Marcus wasn't home. I showered and lay in bed, waiting. At two in the morning, the lock clicked.

He tiptoed into the bedroom, thinking I was asleep.

"How was the fight?" I asked in the dark.

His body went stiff. "It was good. Tommy won."

A lie. I’d seen him with Victoria all night. He hadn't watched a single round.

"Oh?" I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. "Come here. I want to hold you."

He came over, looking uneasy. I buried my face in his chest. The scent of her perfume—jasmine, the expensive kind—clung to his shirt.

"Did you change your cologne?" I asked, looking up at him.

"What?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. "No, I never wear the stuff."

Another lie.

"I must be mistaken." I lay back down and closed my eyes. "Goodnight."

I booked a flight for seven days from now.

Seven days, and I’d be gone.

The next day, I went to my job at the art gallery. That afternoon, Victoria showed up.

She wore a white dress, looking fragile and innocent, holding a bouquet of lilies.

"Isabella, I need to talk to you," she whispered, as if afraid of being overheard.

"About what?"

"About Marcus." She bit her lip, her eyes welling up. "I know you misunderstood, but last night was just a coincidence. I was having a bad day, and he was just comforting me…"

"And what does your bad day have to do with him?"

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Isabella, I know you hate me, but Marcus and I are really over. I would never get in the way of—"

"Then why were you all over him last night?"

"I… I was just so weak. I thought I was over him, but when I saw him…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

Just then, Marcus burst in.

"Victoria!" He saw her crying and rushed to her side. "What's wrong? Who upset you?"

He didn't even ask me what I was doing there, what had happened. His first instinct was to protect her.

"Isabella, why did you make Victoria cry?" Marcus turned to me, his voice sharp with accusation. "You're being paranoid."

Paranoid.

I looked at the two of them standing together, and suddenly it was all so ridiculous.

"You're right, Marcus." I grabbed my bag. "I'm just paranoid."

I walked out of the gallery without a backward glance.

For a second, I hoped he would come after me.

He didn't.

But my phone buzzed with a text. A picture of two hands, intertwined. One of them was Marcus's. I'd know it anywhere.

The message read: "You can't compete with me. Face it."

I turned my phone off.

You didn't choose me. So now, I'm not choosing you.

Back at the apartment, I poured a glass of red wine and sat on the balcony, staring out at the Manhattan skyline.

The words of Marcus’s best friend echoed in my head. At a party three months ago, he’d gotten drunk and let it slip. "You know why Marcus went after you, Isabella? 'Cause you have the same air as Victoria. He was a wreck after she left him…"

I’d dismissed it as drunken rambling then. Now, it all made sense.

No wonder he always said ponytails looked best on me—Victoria’s signature hairstyle.

No wonder he bought me jasmine perfume—Victoria’s favorite.

No wonder he stared at me so intensely the first time we met, like he’d seen a ghost.

I was a replacement. A stand-in from the very beginning.

I put down my glass and started packing. The apartment was Marcus’s, but over six years, my things had seeped into every corner. From the skincare in the bathroom to the clothes in the closet, the art books on the shelves, and our photos on the fridge.

I packed them all into boxes.

As I was clearing my vanity, my phone lit up. A new Instagram post from Victoria: a photo of a delicate hand wearing a limited-edition Tiffany ring, an exclusive Hermès bag in the background.

The caption was simple: Some things are worth waiting for. ??

Marcus’s account was the first "like."

I zoomed in. I recognized the ring. Marcus had bought it three years ago. Said he was waiting for a special occasion to give it to me. Guess that occasion was never coming. Not for me, anyway.

I pulled open the vanity drawer and took out our matching rings. Simple platinum bands, engraved with our initials on the inside.

Marcus’s had been missing for a while.

I placed mine in the very back of the drawer.

The next morning, I went to the gallery to handle my resignation.

Amy, at the front desk, looked surprised. "Isabella, isn't this your day off? Oh, are these white roses a surprise from Mr. Marcus?"

I followed her gaze. A huge bouquet of white roses sat on the counter, a fancy gift box beside it.

I remembered him telling me that white roses were Victoria’s favorite. The adoring look on his face when he said it was burned into my memory.

No mystery who those were for.

"They must be!" Amy said, beaming. "You and Marcus are so perfect together. I'm so jealous!"

I didn't correct her. Better they think that. At least no one would ask why my boyfriend was sending flowers to another woman.

"Amy, I need you to process something for me." I handed her the resignation papers I'd prepared. "Can you put your stamp on this?"

Amy took the folder and gave it a quick glance. "Sure, but this needs Mr. Marcus’s signature…"

"I know," I said, pointing to the form. "You sign first. I'll get it to him later."

She didn't read the document closely, assuming it was just routine paperwork. She signed and stamped it without another thought.

"By the way, Isabella, aren't you taking the roses?"

"No. You guys can split them up for the vases."

I took the folder and walked toward Marcus's office. One last signature, and I would be free.

The office door was ajar. As I raised my hand to knock, I heard Victoria's soft, cloying voice. "Marcus, I think I'm a little dizzy…"

"What?" His voice was instantly sharp with worry. "Is it your anemia acting up again? I'll take you to the hospital!"

I pushed the door open. Marcus was helping Victoria up, about to lead her out. Her face was pale, and she was leaning limply in his arms.

He froze when he saw me. "Isabella? What are you doing here?"

"I need your signature," I said, holding up the folder.

"Not now, I have to get Victoria to the hospital," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "We'll deal with it when I get back."

"It'll take a second." I stood in the doorway, blocking their path. "Sign it, and you can go."

"Isabella!" he snapped. "Can't you see she's not well?"

In his arms, Victoria looked at me with pitiful eyes. "Isabella, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt…"

"It's fine." I held the folder and a pen out to Marcus, my voice so steady it scared me. "Just a signature. It won't take a second of your time."

Marcus scowled and snatched the folder. "What's so damn urgent?"

Just as he bent down to sign, Victoria’s body went slack, as if she were about to collapse.

"Victoria!" Marcus dropped everything and held her tight.

I bent down and picked up the folder. It was stained with one of her tears.

Pathetic. I had to fight her for even a signature.

"For Christ's sake, Isabella, can't you be reasonable for once?" Marcus snarled, holding Victoria. "It's a stupid signature. Is it that big of a deal?"

He grabbed the folder with one hand, scribbled his name without a single glance at the page, and threw it back at me.

"There! Now can we go?"

I took the document, looking at his messy signature. He'd signed my resignation without even looking at it, all for her. A strange quiet settled over me.

"Thanks," I said, stepping aside. "You two should get to the hospital."

As Marcus rushed past with Victoria, she looked back weakly and whispered, "Thank you for understanding, Isabella…"

I stood alone in the empty office, carefully folded the document, and put it in my purse. Just like that, six years of my life and two years at this job were over, sealed on a single piece of paper.

Ten minutes later, Marcus called.

"Isabella, I'm sorry about my tone earlier," he said, sounding apologetic. "It was just low blood sugar. Victoria's fine now."

"It's okay. I get it," I said calmly. "She was sick."

"You're… you're not mad?" He sounded surprised.

"Why would I be mad?" I let out a small laugh. "Marcus, let's have dinner tonight at home. I'll make your favorite—Italian roasted chicken."

There was a pause. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll be home by seven."

"Great. I'll be waiting."

After hanging up, I dropped the document off at HR. Amy was still buzzing about the white roses, completely unaware of what she had just co-signed.

Everything was going according to plan.

For the next few days, I acted like nothing had happened. I cooked his favorite meals, watched his favorite movies, and even suggested we go to his friend's birthday party together.

Marcus visibly relaxed. He probably thought I’d gotten over it, that I’d dropped the whole thing with Victoria.

Then the gown arrived.

A large, beautifully wrapped box was delivered to the gallery that afternoon. The courier confirmed my identity before handing it over.

"A custom gown for you, Miss Isabella. From Mr. Moretti."

Moretti?

I opened the box. Inside lay a pure black silk evening gown. The cut was perfect, every detail exuding luxury. The tag read Valentino Atelier.

Amy leaned in, her eyes wide. "Oh my god, Isabella! That's Valentino haute couture! That’s at least fifty grand! Mr. Marcus is spoiling you!"

Other colleagues gathered around, gushing over the dress.

"Is this for a special occasion?"

"It has to be an engagement party! Isabella, are you guys getting engaged?"

Just then, my phone rang. It was my mother.

"Isabella, did the gown arrive? The Moretti family's charity gala is the day after tomorrow. Dante will be formally introducing you."

I stepped away. "Mom, isn't this a little fast?"

"This was your decision, honey. Besides, Dante is a good man. You won't regret this."

I hung up and rejoined my colleagues, who were still fawning over the gown.

"You're so lucky, Isabella. To have a boyfriend like Marcus…"

"Yeah, he must love you so much."

I was about to say something when Marcus appeared at the gallery entrance. He was in a good mood, a coffee in his hand.

"Isabella, are you free this after—"

He stopped short. His eyes landed on the black gown displayed on the table.

He walked over, picked it up, and checked the tag. His face darkened instantly.

"What is this?"

"A gown," I said flatly.

"I know it's a gown!" he hissed, lowering his voice. "What's the meaning of this? Having it sent here for everyone to see?"

The others sensed the tension and quietly dispersed.

I found his reaction almost funny. "What do you think it means?"

"Isabella, are you trying to force my hand?" he said, his voice laced with anger. "To push me into a wedding? I told you I'm going to marry you. Why can't you just give me some time—"

"You're overthinking it," I interrupted, refusing to listen to his pathetic excuses. "It's just a gift from a friend."

He looked at me, suspicious. "Really?"

"Of course." I stood up. "By the way, Marcus, that resignation document you signed the other day? I've already submitted it."

"What resignation document?" He looked completely lost. "When did I sign a resignation document?"

"The day Victoria felt dizzy. You signed it," I said, my tone perfectly even. "Don't you remember?"

The color drained from his face. "I thought that was just a standard business form."

"You signed it." I watched his face go pale. "If you don't believe me, you can check the copy with Amy."