Replaced by the Original

The first thing Nathan did was try to maintain the illusion.

I watched from afar as he used his savings—money he'd been too lazy to work for, money that had accumulated from the allowance I'd given him—to continue his charade with Scarlett. He booked reservations at the same expensive restaurants where I'd once taken him, ordered the same vintage wines, tried to recreate the magic that had never been real.

"He's really trying," Victoria observed one evening, sliding her tablet across my desk. "Look at this."

The screen showed Nathan and Scarlett at Le Bernardin, their faces illuminated by candlelight. He was leaning forward, his expression earnest as he spoke to her. She was smiling, but her eyes kept drifting to her phone.

"Let me guess," I said, not bothering to zoom in on the image. "He's telling her about the vacation he's planning."

"Maldives," Victoria confirmed. "The same resort you took him to last Christmas."

I set the tablet aside and returned to my quarterly projections. "How long do you think his money will last?"

"Two weeks. Maybe three if he's careful."

I nodded once, then turned back to my work.

---

Two weeks later, almost to the day, Nathan's facade began to crack.

I didn't need Victoria's surveillance updates to see it happening. The signs were everywhere—first on Instagram, where Scarlett's posts went from #blessed to subtly complaining about "expectations versus reality"; then through Marcus, who mentioned that Nathan had tried to sell some of the watches I'd given him.

"He's asking around about jobs," Victoria reported one morning. "Entry-level positions. He doesn't have the qualifications for anything better."

I sipped my coffee, feeling nothing but a distant satisfaction. "And Scarlett?"

"That's where it gets interesting." Victoria's voice carried a note of schadenfreude. "She's been seen at parties with other men. Wealthy men."

I set down my cup with deliberate precision. "I want to be there when it happens."

"When what happens?"

"When she breaks him."

---

The party was at Sigma Chi, the kind of Greek life event that Nathan had once attended wearing designer clothes and flashing my black card. Now he stood in the corner, nursing a single beer, watching as Scarlett charmed a group of lacrosse players across the room.

"Another drink, Nathan?" Scarlett's voice was sweet poison as she approached, her blonde hair gleaming under the fraternity house lights.

"I'm good," he said quickly, his eyes darting to her empty hands. "I thought you were getting drinks."

"I was." Her smile was razor-sharp. "But I figured you'd want to impress me with your... financial skills."

The trap was laid. Nathan straightened his shoulders and reached for his wallet—the same wallet that once held my cards.

"Of course," he said, his voice carrying a desperate bravado. "What are you drinking?"

"Kettle One cranberry," she replied, her eyes glittering with malice. "For me and my friends."

Nathan's smile faltered slightly, but he recovered. "No problem."

I watched from across the room as he approached the bar, his back straight, his steps measured. The bartender took his order, and Nathan handed over his card with a flourish.

The machine beeped. Once. Twice.

"Sorry, man," the bartender said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Card's declined."

Nathan's face flushed crimson. "That's impossible. Try it again."

"Already did." The bartender shrugged. "Maybe call your sugar mama?"

The room erupted in laughter. Phones appeared everywhere, recording Nathan's humiliation. Scarlett's voice cut through the noise:

"Did your sugar mama finally cut you off, Nathan? Or did you just run out of her money?"

More laughter. More phones capturing every second of his destruction.

---

Three nights later, my penthouse security system pinged at 2:17 AM.

"Motion sensors in the foyer," my phone displayed. "Unidentified entry."

I didn't need to ask who it was. The security footage showed Nathan, his clothes rumpled, his eyes wild as he punched in the code he still remembered.

"Ms. Kennedy," the security guard's voice came through the intercom. "Intruder in the foyer. Instructions?"

"Give me five minutes," I replied calmly, setting down my wine glass.

I was in my silk robe, my hair loose around my shoulders, when Nathan burst through the door. He looked terrible—unshaven, hollow-eyed, desperate.

"Genevieve," he gasped, and then he was on his knees before me, his hands reaching for mine. "Please. I'll do anything."

I stepped back, maintaining distance between us.

"I love you," he sobbed, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "I know I messed up. I know I was stupid. But I need you. I'll be better. I'll be the man you want me to be."

His tears fell onto the marble floor as he crawled toward me.

"I'll be your everything," he promised, his voice breaking. "Just please... don't leave me like this."

I looked down at him—this boy I'd once mistaken for something more—and felt nothing but cold disappointment.

"Security," I said into my phone, never taking my eyes off him. "Come remove Mr. Moore from my penthouse."

As the guards entered and lifted him to his feet, Nathan's eyes locked with mine one last time.

"You can't do this," he whispered. "You need me."

I turned away, pouring another glass of wine as they dragged him toward the door.

"No," I replied quietly. "I never did."