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."

Marcus went straight to Amy to see the copy. An hour later, he stormed back into the gallery, his face a mask of thunder.

"Isabella. We're talking about this at home."

Back at the apartment, he didn't explode like I expected. Instead, he was unnervingly gentle.

"Babe, I know I've been neglecting you," he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "This thing with Victoria, it'll be over soon. Just trust me, okay?"

I stiffened in his arms. In the mirror's reflection, I saw the open collar of his shirt.

Where my name used to be tattooed, there was a new one: Victoria.

The script was elegant, just like her.

My fingers went to the spot without thinking. "This tattoo…"

He quickly pulled his shirt closed. "Isabella, I can explain—"

"Don't," I said, turning to face him. "I just want to know one thing. When did you have mine removed?"

He was silent.

"Was it before she came back, or after?" I pressed.

"Isabella…"

"Answer me."

"Three months ago," he finally whispered. "But I didn't get hers right away, that was…"

"Three months ago?" I cut him off. "So you decided to get rid of me before she was even back in the picture?"

"No! That's not it! I just—"

His phone rang, saving him. The screen lit up: Victoria.

He stared at the phone, torn.

"Answer it," I said. "I'm sure she's more important than this conversation."

He picked up. "Victoria? What's wrong…"

Her crying was audible through the phone, panicked and incoherent.

"Okay, okay, I'm on my way," Marcus said, hanging up. He grabbed his jacket in a rush. "Isabella, Victoria's having an anxiety attack. I have to go check on her…"

"Marcus, we're not done talking."

"We'll talk when I get back, I promise." He was already at the door. "I'll be quick."

The door slammed shut.

I stood in the empty living room, watching the space where he’d been. The last flicker of hope died.

He didn't come back that night. I got another text from Victoria.

This time, the picture was more explicit.

Marcus was lying beside her, shirt half-undone, fast asleep.

The text read: "He says he can only truly relax when he's with me."

I forced myself to look away, ignoring the hollow ache in my chest.

Three days until my flight.

For the next few days, Marcus went dark.

His phone was either off or went straight to voicemail. My texts went unanswered. I went by his office, and his assistant said he’d taken a leave of absence.

I stopped trying to find him and focused on clearing out the apartment.

Anything related to him, I threw out. The crafts we'd made, the portrait he painted of me, the matching mugs… Everything but what was mine.

Then came the sixth day.

Our sixth anniversary. And his birthday.

I figured I owed him a proper goodbye. A clean end to it all.

I left work early and bought the ingredients for all his favorite foods. I prepared a feast. I even bought a chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday, Marcus" written on it.

Seven o'clock. No Marcus.

Eight o'clock. No Marcus.

At nine, a sharp pain hit my stomach.

The milk I'd had earlier must have been bad. Nausea washed over me, followed by intense cramps. I barely made it to the bathroom before I started throwing up violently.

At ten-thirty, I shakily dialed his number.

"Isabella?" His voice sounded exhausted.

"Marcus, I have food poisoning…" I said weakly. "Can you come home?"

"Food poisoning?" His voice turned sharp with irritation. "Isabella, can you stop pulling this shit? Faking sick whenever I'm busy?"

"I'm not faking…"

"Enough!" he exploded. "Victoria is actually sick right now, and she needs me! And you? You always pull these little stunts for attention!"

I leaned against the bathroom wall, the world spinning.

"Marcus, it's your birthday…"

"I know what day it is!" he yelled. "But Victoria is having a full-blown anxiety attack. She needs me more than you do!"

I could hear her faint voice in the background. "Marcus, who are you talking to…?"

"It's nothing, babe. I'll be right back with you," he said gently to her, then his voice hardened for me again. "Isabella, I'll be home later. Get yourself to a hospital. Or call an ambulance."

"Marcus…"

"That's it. I'm hanging up."

Click.

I stared at the phone, listening to the dial tone, and the tears finally came.

By one in the morning, the vomiting had stopped. I took a shower, changed into clean pajamas, and walked into the living room.

The food on the table was cold. The icing on the cake had melted. One by one, I scraped it all into the trash can, including the cake with his birthday wish.

My phone buzzed again. A picture of a sonogram.

"I'm pregnant. He said he's going to marry me."

This time, I didn't look away. I calmly replied:

"Then you'd better hold on to him tight, Victoria."

Then I blocked her number.

At two, I started packing my suitcase.

Six years together, two years living here. I didn't have much. Some clothes, some books, and our photos.

Looking at the pictures, I remembered the good times. He used to love me so much. He'd said I was his whole world, that he'd get a tattoo of my name that he would never, ever remove.

Now, my name was gone. Replaced by hers.

I threw all the photos in the trash.

I sent a quick text to Amy. There were a few things I'd meant to get from Marcus tonight, but since he never showed, she'd have to go get them for me and ship them.

At three in the morning, I stood at the door with my suitcase.

I took out my phone and sent one last text.

Marcus, we're done.

Sent.

Then I blocked his number and deleted him from everything.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I didn't look back.

The taxi driver asked me where I was going.

"The airport," I said.

It was time to start a new life.