Just A Substitute: The Don's Lost Love

Ellie POV

The next morning, the sky was a bruised purple, hanging heavy and low with the promise of rain.

I stood in the family cemetery at the desolate edge of the estate. The moss Marcus had sworn to have removed months ago still clung to my parents' headstones, coating their names in green slime.

"Liar," I whispered, my finger tracing the cold stone of my mother's name.

I felt hollowed out. Scraped clean. The sharp, jagged pain from last night had settled into a dull, constant ache deep in my marrow.

"Ellie."

I didn't flinch. Instead, I turned slowly, deliberately.

Marcus stood on the gravel path. He looked impeccable, as always—a study in tailored wool and arrogance—but dark circles marred the skin beneath his eyes.

"Why did you invite me?" he asked. He sounded irritated, as if my wedding were merely a scheduling conflict he couldn't quite resolve.

"Because it's polite," I said, my voice steady. "And because I wanted you to see me leave."

He scoffed, a harsh sound in the quiet air. "You're not leaving. You're throwing a tantrum. You'll be back the moment the money runs out."

"The money ran out four years ago, Marcus. I've been living on my own ever since."

He stepped closer, invading my personal space with practiced ease. "You belong here. You are a Thorne ward."

"I am nothing to you," I countered. "I am a placeholder. Isn't that right?"

His eyes widened slightly—a flicker of recognition, perhaps even guilt. But before he could speak, the heavy thud of a car door slamming shut echoed through the trees.

A man was walking up the path. He wore a tan trench coat, his dark hair tousled by the wind. He didn't look like a killer, nor did he look like a Thorne. He looked like sunlight breaking through the storm.

"David," I breathed.

He wasn't supposed to be here yet. He was supposed to meet me at the airport.

David saw me and jogged the last few steps, ignoring Marcus completely. He pulled me into his arms, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"I couldn't wait," he murmured against my skin. "I tracked your phone location. Are you okay?"

I melted into him, the tension draining from my shoulders. "I am now."

Marcus cleared his throat—a sound like a low growl.

"Who is this?"

David turned, keeping his arm firmly possessive around my waist. "I'm David. Ellie's fiancé."

Marcus looked him up and down, a sneer curling his lip. "You look... soft."

"And you look like a man who lost something valuable and is too stupid to realize it," David replied, his voice calm but deadly.

The air crackled with sudden violence. Marcus took a threatening step forward, his hand twitching toward his waistband where I knew, from years of observation, he kept a gun.

"I'm taking Ellie to lunch," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We have family business to discuss."

"I'm coming with her," David said.

"Fine."

*

The restaurant was one of Marcus's fronts—high ceilings, crisp white tablecloths, and waiters who moved with the silent lethality of hitmen.

We slid into a booth. Marcus sat across from us, staring at David with open hostility.

"So, David," Marcus began, picking up the menu without looking at it. "How do you plan to support a woman with Ellie's... tastes?"

"Ellie's tastes are simple," David said, meeting his gaze. "She likes peace. Something you clearly can't afford."

I squeezed David's hand under the table. He was baiting a shark, and he didn't care.

My phone buzzed against the table. A notification from the airline flashed on the screen: *Flight delayed*.

Suddenly, Marcus's phone rang. The jagged, piercing ringtone cut through the tension like a knife.

He glanced at the screen, and his face softened instantly. "Chloe."

He answered it right there at the table, ignoring us. "Yes, love? What? Are you okay? Stay there. I'm coming."

He hung up and stood abruptly, throwing a stack of cash onto the pristine tablecloth.

"We have to go," he said, looking past me. "Chloe broke a nail. She's hysterical."

I stared at him, blinking. "A nail?" I asked, incredulous. "You're leaving lunch because she broke a *nail*?"

"She needs me," Marcus said, adjusting his cuffs. "Priorities, Ellie."

"Priorities," I repeated, the word tasting like ash.

Just then, a waiter approached with a tray of coffee. Perhaps he was nervous, or perhaps he stumbled, but his foot caught on the edge of the rug.

It happened fast.

The tray tipped. Three mugs of scalding black coffee went airborne.

They were heading straight for Marcus.

But Marcus didn't move to protect himself. He didn't move to protect me.

He lunged to grab his phone, which he had left on the table—the phone with Chloe's picture beaming from the screen.

The coffee missed him.

It hit me.

The dark liquid splashed across my chest and soaked down my stomach.

"Ah!" I screamed, the pain searing and immediate. It felt like liquid fire eating through my dress and into my skin.

David was out of his seat instantly. He grabbed a pitcher of ice water and threw it over me, drenching my dress but cooling the agonizing burn.

"Ellie!" David yelled, his voice cracking. "Call an ambulance!"

Marcus stood there, frozen. He looked at me—dripping wet, clutching my stomach, gasping for air. Then, he looked at his phone.

"I... I have to go," Marcus stammered. "Chloe is waiting."

Time stopped.

I looked up at him through wet lashes. My skin was blistering, red and angry. My fiancé was frantically trying to help me.

And my guardian, the man who raised me, was checking his watch.

"It's just a burn," Marcus muttered, as if convincing himself. "David has you. It was an accident."

"Go," David snarled, his eyes murderous. "Get the hell out of here."

"She's fine," Marcus said to the air, turning away. "Chloe is alone."

He turned his back. He walked out of the restaurant without looking back.

He left me.

I watched his broad back disappear through the glass doors. The pain in my skin was excruciating, but the pain in my heart was terminal.

He chose a broken nail over my burning flesh.

"Ellie, look at me," David commanded gently, cupping my face with trembling hands. His eyes were full of panic and fierce love. "Stay with me. We're going to the hospital."

I leaned into his touch, seeking the only warmth that didn't hurt. "David," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm done. I'm really done."

"I know," he said, lifting me up. "I've got you."

Chloe's face must have been on his lock screen. He had protected the image of her while I burned.

That was the truth. That was the only truth that mattered.

As David lifted me into his arms, carrying me out of the wreckage, I closed my eyes. The Thorne family was dead to me.