The CEO's Substitute: Love In London

They moved deeper into the ballroom, but the mood was shattered. The orchestra began to play a waltz, a light, airy tune that felt grotesque against the pounding of Kamden's heart.

He kept glancing back. Across the room, Cason was holding court. He was charming a group of investors, laughing, throwing his head back.

Kamden's internal monologue began to spiral.

He looks like me. But he's freer. He's happier.

He looked at Helena. She was walking beside him, but she felt miles away.

London.

The rumors he had ignored for years came rushing back. Helena Griffith, the piano prodigy, disappearing to the UK. Coming back broken.

Was it him? Kamden thought. Did she love him? Is that why she settled for me? Because I have his face?

The thought was a parasite. It burrowed into his brain and laid eggs.

"Am I just a replacement?" he muttered, unaware he had spoken aloud.

Helena stopped. She felt Kamden's grip on her arm tighten to the point of pain. She gently pulled away.

"I need some air," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "And food. With Penny..." She let the sentence hang, the demands of a new mother a convenient shield.

It was a lie. Or half a lie. She couldn't stand the way he was looking at her-like he was waiting for her to confess a sin she hadn't committed.

"Go," Kamden said stiffly. He let her go.

As she walked away, he felt abandoned. It reinforced every insecurity he had ever buried under his expensive suits.

Helena walked to the hors d'oeuvres station. Her hands were shaking. She picked up a canapé with her right hand. Her left hand throbbed. A phantom pain.

She leaned against a marble pillar, hidden from the main crowd. She closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

Flashback.

A hospital room. The smell of antiseptic. Cason standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her bandaged hand. "Was it worth it, Helena? Saving him? He doesn't even know."

She opened her eyes. The pain in her hand was real.

Back in the center of the room, a waiter passed Kamden with a tray. Kamden grabbed a glass. It was double scotch.

He downed it in one swallow. The alcohol burned his throat, hitting his empty stomach like gasoline.

He looked around. People were whispering. They were looking at him, then looking at Cason.

They know, Kamden thought. The paranoia set in. Everyone knows but me.

He needed to confront this. He couldn't just stand here and be the polite, ignorant husband.