His Stand-In, the Don’s Queen

The sixth year I gave up my family, my name, everything, to be with Marcus.

That’s when I found out I was just a stand-in for the one he could never forget.

And now, she was back.

I accepted my family’s arrangement. The marriage alliance.

The day my engagement dress arrived at the office, Marcus looked pissed. “I thought we agreed we’d get married when my career was more stable.”

I said nothing.

But when the wedding invitation arrived, Marcus finally broke.

The groom wasn't him. It was the heir to the Moretti family.

Six years with Marcus, and still no ring. But I was getting married. Just not to him.

"Mom, I'll do it. The marriage alliance."

Shock crackled in my mother's voice.

"Isabella, honey, are you sure? You were so dead set against it…"

"I've changed my mind," I cut her off, my voice so calm it felt foreign even to me. "When can we set it up?"

My mother knew me too well. She sighed. "What happened?"

I didn't answer. Last night’s scene played out in my head again—under the dim lights of an underground fight, Marcus had his arms wrapped tight around Victoria. Her head was on his chest, the two of them a painful spotlight in the crowd.

I was standing less than thirty feet away, the energy drink I’d bought for him still in my hand. He’d told me he was just going to see a friend's fight, that I didn't need to come.

Turns out his "friend" was Victoria Blair.

"Isabella?" My mother's voice pulled me back.

"Nothing happened. I just see things clearly now. The family's business is more important than my feelings."

There was a long silence on the other end. Then, "Dante, the eldest son of the Moretti family. You met him. At the charity gala three years ago…"

"I remember." I did. A tall, handsome man with deep-set eyes and the polish of a perfect gentleman. "Has he agreed to this?"

"His grandfather called yesterday." She still sounded hesitant. "Isabella, an alliance like this is for life. Once you decide…"

"I know."

Of course, I knew. But Marcus wasn't a game, either. Six years wasn't a game. And look how that turned out.

When I got back to the apartment, Marcus wasn't home. I showered and lay in bed, waiting. At two in the morning, the lock clicked.

He tiptoed into the bedroom, thinking I was asleep.

"How was the fight?" I asked in the dark.

His body went stiff. "It was good. Tommy won."

A lie. I’d seen him with Victoria all night. He hadn't watched a single round.

"Oh?" I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. "Come here. I want to hold you."

He came over, looking uneasy. I buried my face in his chest. The scent of her perfume—jasmine, the expensive kind—clung to his shirt.

"Did you change your cologne?" I asked, looking up at him.

"What?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. "No, I never wear the stuff."

Another lie.

"I must be mistaken." I lay back down and closed my eyes. "Goodnight."

I booked a flight for seven days from now.

Seven days, and I’d be gone.

The next day, I went to my job at the art gallery. That afternoon, Victoria showed up.

She wore a white dress, looking fragile and innocent, holding a bouquet of lilies.

"Isabella, I need to talk to you," she whispered, as if afraid of being overheard.

"About what?"

"About Marcus." She bit her lip, her eyes welling up. "I know you misunderstood, but last night was just a coincidence. I was having a bad day, and he was just comforting me…"

"And what does your bad day have to do with him?"

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Isabella, I know you hate me, but Marcus and I are really over. I would never get in the way of—"

"Then why were you all over him last night?"

"I… I was just so weak. I thought I was over him, but when I saw him…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

Just then, Marcus burst in.

"Victoria!" He saw her crying and rushed to her side. "What's wrong? Who upset you?"

He didn't even ask me what I was doing there, what had happened. His first instinct was to protect her.

"Isabella, why did you make Victoria cry?" Marcus turned to me, his voice sharp with accusation. "You're being paranoid."

Paranoid.

I looked at the two of them standing together, and suddenly it was all so ridiculous.

"You're right, Marcus." I grabbed my bag. "I'm just paranoid."

I walked out of the gallery without a backward glance.

For a second, I hoped he would come after me.

He didn't.

But my phone buzzed with a text. A picture of two hands, intertwined. One of them was Marcus's. I'd know it anywhere.

The message read: "You can't compete with me. Face it."

I turned my phone off.

You didn't choose me. So now, I'm not choosing you.