I Was Just His Substitute Wife

A necklace from some luxury brand's 2026 spring collection.

Expensive, respectable, and no effort at all.

The Harry James of today could get one with a flick of his finger.

I faked delight.

"You actually remembered this!"

"Remembered what?" Harry blinked, caught off guard.

"Three years ago, the birthday gift you were going to give me was a necklace from this same brand. It was a spring release too, what a coincidence!"

"Later you said your project fell through, so you couldn't buy that necklace anymore. I was sad about it for the longest time."

The flawless smile slid back onto his face.

"That's right. I just knew you'd love it. From now on I'll get you the new release every year."

Liar.

I closed the lid and set the gift aside.

He didn't remember at all.

Three years ago, what he'd actually told me was that the project bonus had gone toward gifts for his business partners.

Just bear with the disappointment for now, he'd said. I'll make it up to you later.

Today, I'd seen that necklace around a girl's throat.

She'd told the host,

"This was the birthday gift he mailed me after we broke up."

"Honestly, every year I told him I threw away everything he sent, that he should stop mailing them. But he never listened."

I remembered the price of that necklace perfectly.

Eighty-seven thousand three hundred sixty-two dollars.

I'd caught a glimpse of it on Harry's phone by accident, a number I'd chewed over in private for a long time.

Back then we were crammed into a basement apartment.

It ached, knowing he'd spent enough money to change our lives on a single necklace.

And it made me happy, believing that if he had a hundred dollars, ninety-nine of it would go to me.

In the end, the money and the love, I got neither.

Harry still didn't know about that girl.

I curled up on the couch, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen.

It has to be said sooner or later.

Five years between us.

I'd built everything with him from nothing, all the way to now.

At our lowest, one plate of pickled vegetables and one roll, split between us for two days.

I didn't want to wait until the recording actually arrived at our door and then watch him hold another woman in his heart for the rest of his life.

Before I could open my mouth, Harry's phone rang.

He answered, said a couple of words, and his face changed. He rushed straight into the study.

"Is Phoebe—"

He was too frantic to notice the study door hadn't shut all the way.

Out in the living room, I heard every word.

Phoebe. Phoebe Fox. That was the girl's name.

I opened my phone.

A news story was sweeping across every social platform.

【The Real-Life Novel Heroine, a Life Buried for Love.】

That lukewarm little show had gone viral because of Phoebe Fox's story.

And it had reached Harry too.

"Libby, something came up at the company. I have to go deal with it."

Harry left in a hurry, forgetting even the parting kiss he always gave me before walking out.

Night fell, and the apartment was swallowed in darkness.

I didn't get up to turn on the lights. Only my phone flickered, its glow rising and dying against my face.

Numbly, I watched people online debate the story with feverish excitement.

Praising and mourning their love, hoping the two of them would get back together.

Refresh again.

A new post shot straight to the top of my feed, unstoppable.

【Folks, I think I just witnessed a live grovel-to-win-her-back scene.】

The video was shot from a hidden angle, yet it let me see the man's face perfectly clearly.

Harry had always been elegant, put-together.

Even the ten-dollar street-stall clothes from back then, he'd worn with restraint and dignity.

But now, he was on his knees in front of Phoebe Fox, pressing his face to her hand, weeping like his heart was breaking.