I Left My Boyfriend For His Best Friend

When I signed up for the debutante program, they promised me the whole package. Learn how to captivate a man in a month, marry into money within a year. Yet after five years with Cayson Martin, he still hadn't proposed.

On the last day of the program, I decided to take matters into my own hands and propose to him. But then I overheard him on the phone with a buddy: “Oh, her? She's just a good time. Fun to date, sure. But marry her? That's a joke.” My grip tightened on the ring box in my coat pocket. I took a step back.

Suddenly, our instructor Nia Sanchez's final words echoed in my head: “Ladies, if you're not getting the results you want, don't force it. Cut your losses while you still can. Youth is precious.”

I wasn't exactly quiet when I opened the door. Cayson turned from the balcony, spotted me, and smiled into the phone. “Gotta go. My little heiress is back.” Then he walked over and casually took my coat to hang in the entryway closet.

He knew I'd overheard. He just didn't bother to explain. Instead, he asked, all casual, “So, what did you learn today?” That tone—familiar, just a little condescending—used to charm me.

In the past, I would've followed the program's rules—played dumb, showered him with affection. But now Nia's gentle voice kept echoing in my head: “Youth is precious. If you know you're not getting what you need, don't hang on to one tree.”

And just like that, I was done pretending. When he reached out to ruffle my hair, I brushed his hand away. My voice came out cold. “What's there to talk about? So you can make fun of me?”

Cayson had known since the day I joined the program. He didn't care. He'd just pinch my earlobe and say, “That's good. Keeps you busy, so I worry less.”

Everything I learned, I practiced on him—lavish gifts, estates, wealth. I got all of it. Everything except marriage. Whenever I brought it up, he'd answer in that tone I hated: “Oh, sweetheart, take a few more classes. Maybe one day you'll get to me, and I'll agree to marry you.”

But the classes were over, and I still hadn't reached his heart. I was exhausted.

Maybe it was my long silence, or maybe it was how cold I sounded—either way, it caught Cayson off guard. But only for a second. He was back to his confident self in no time. “Is this today's lesson? You remind me of how you used to be.”

The way I was when we first met in college—bright, pretty, a little proud. I didn't let strangers close, and even acquaintances got the cold shoulder.

Except him. When I actually liked someone, I didn't play hard to get. So two months after he started pursuing me, we were together. He hid his wealthy background from me, and we lived that broke-but-sweet student life.

Until one day, I overheard his basketball buddy talking to him on speakerphone: “Cayson, you really planning to keep dating Winifred? She has no clue her boyfriend—living on a $2,500 monthly allowance—earns more in a day just from interest.”

“The dare from Enzo—wooing her while pretending to be broke? Who'd have thought you'd actually go through with it! Enzo's still whining over the motorbike he lost to you!”

They must've thought no one was around, and the phone was on speaker. Cayson's voice came through a little distorted: “It's just for fun. Once I graduate, my family will push for an arranged marriage, and this freedom's over.”

His friend asked, “So what's the plan, then? Dump her?”

Cayson answered, all casual, “We'll see. Depends on how things go. Just don't let her find out.”

His friend agreed without missing a beat, changed clothes, then turned and saw me. Surprise and guilt flashed across his face. His voice stammered into the phone, “Uh-oh. I think she knows.”