My Guardian Made Me Replace His First Love

The private room at the restaurant was warm, smelling of roasted duck and expensive perfume. Enzo sat at the head of the table. Alondra sat to his right, radiant in a black velvet dress with diamonds catching the candlelight.

I was seated two chairs down, between two men who talked past me about commercial real estate.

Waiters in white coats cleared the salad plates. I kept my hands in my lap, feeling the small scar on my side tingle beneath my shirt. It was an old habit. Whenever the air felt too heavy, my fingers found that mark.

Alondra leaned forward across the white tablecloth. She looked straight at me, her eyes wide and soft.

“You’re so quiet tonight, Clementine,” she said. The men stopped talking. The table fell silent.

I swallowed a sip of water. “I’m just listening.”

Alondra gave a gentle sigh, tilting her head. “It must be so disorienting, living like this. You know, when you came from absolutely nothing.”

She smiled as she said it. It was the kind of sweet, polite smile people used when pitying a stray dog.

A quiet chuckle went around the table. One of the associates smirked into his napkin.

Heat rushed to my collarbones. My knuckles went white under the linen cloth. I looked at Enzo. He sat straight, holding a heavy glass bottle. He tipped it slowly, refilling his red wine.

He didn't glance up. He didn't say a single word. He just set the bottle down with a soft clink and took a sip.

The silence stayed in my ears the entire ride home.

Two days later, there was a gallery opening in Chelsea. It was an important night for Enzo’s firm.

I stood in front of the mirror in the guest bathroom, smoothing down my dress. It was a pale blue silk slip dress. It was the only formal gown I owned, bought three years ago for Enzo’s company gala. I had saved my own pocket money for months to buy it. I had pressed every wrinkle out with the iron that afternoon.

I stepped into the hallway.

Alondra walked out of the master suite. She held a full glass of Cabernet in one hand. She wore an emerald gown that brushed the floor.

As she drew level with me, she stumbled.

It was clumsy, exaggerated, and completely fake. Her elbow clipped my arm, and the dark red liquid surged over the rim.

The wine hit my chest in a heavy splash. It soaked straight through the silk, spreading out in a dark, ugly bloom over the pale fabric. The sour smell of alcohol filled the narrow hall.

“Oh my god!” Alondra gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “Clementine, I am so sorry! The floor here is just so slippery. Enzo, I'm completely mortified.”

Enzo appeared at the end of the hall, adjusting his cufflinks. He stopped and looked at us.

“She did that on pur—” I started, my voice shaking.

Enzo didn’t even let me finish. He flicked his hand in the air, a quick, dismissive wave.

“Stop it, Clementine,” he said, his tone dry and annoyed. “You’re making us late. Go change into something else.”

I stood there, frozen. The cold wine soaked against my skin, chilling me. He looked at me like I was a broken vase he didn't want to sweep up.

“Enzo, it’s my only—”

“Five minutes,” he cut in. He turned back toward the foyer. “Don't embarrass me tonight.”

I went back into the guest room. My hands shook so hard I could barely undo the zipper. I threw the ruined dress into the trash can. Then I pulled on a plain black wool skirt and a grey crewneck sweater.

At the gallery, women drifted past in satin and lace, holding champagne flutes. I stood in the shadowed corner near the emergency exit, holding a glass of club soda until my fingers went numb. Enzo never came over. Alondra stood by his arm all night, laughing at his jokes.

Around two in the morning, the penthouse finally went dark.

Enzo and Alondra’s bedroom door was shut. The quiet in the apartment was heavy, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator.

I sat on the floor by the living room window, pulling my knees up. The city lights glowed through the glass, cold and distant.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the small jeweler's kit.

The silver ring was almost finished. I picked up the fine polishing cloth and began to rub the metal. Back and forth. Slow and steady. The friction warmed the silver against my fingertips.

*He’s just stressed,* I told myself in the dark. *He feels indebted to Alondra’s family. That’s all this is.*

I repeated the lie until it sounded like reason.

I would do this for him. I would wear the veil, walk down the aisle, and sign the registry for Duncan Holdings. I would repay the five years he gave me. And when it was over, when Alondra was safe and Enzo had what he wanted, he would see. He would remember that I was the one who stayed. He would remember the scar on my ribs. He would realize what I gave up for him.

The silver caught the distant streetlights, shining clean and bright.

I pulled a small piece of white tissue paper from my pocket. I folded the ring inside, wrapping it with careful, precise edges. Then I slipped the little package into the inner pocket of my winter coat, right over my heart.

It was a foolish thought. It was thin, fragile, and hanging by a thread.

But it was all I had left. And I wasn't ready to let go.