Preston claimed he was on a business trip in Aspen, overseeing the renovation of several high-end resort hotels.
Despite this, during one of our video calls, I caught Blair's reflection, clad in full ski gear, in his sunglasses.
When I called him on it, he scrambled to explain. "Blair just called to check in. When she heard I was in Aspen, she flew out to introduce me to some investors."
"I'm so grateful to her, really. She saved me months of trouble. My dad was even praising me on the phone for how well this round of financing went."
Heirs like him—born with silver spoons—are always ambitious, desperate to step out of their fathers' shadows.
Preston was no exception.
His father was an entrepreneur who controlled immense wealth. Preston, too, had a keen business sense.
But he was constantly overshadowed by his father's success, often dismissed by the board as just another playboy.
Therefore, he was desperate to prove himself.
He had opened several boutique hotels in multiple cities.
He moved fast and aggressively, sparing no expense to secure the best locations.
This time, thanks to the capital injection from Blair's connections, his father had been praising him at board meetings, saying he'd done a good job.
Shortly after, Preston transferred 50,000 dollars to me, asking me to buy a watch for Blair in my name as a thank-you gift.
"I know she helped me for your sake, so it's only right for you to give it to her. I know my boundaries."
After a pause, he added, "Pick something she'll like. If you need more, just let me know."
So, I drafted a very sincere thank-you email.
After sending it, I "accidentally" forwarded it to Blair's ex-husband, Marcus.
The email read: "Thank you for helping my boyfriend. He wants to buy you a watch to show his gratitude, with a budget of around 50,000 dollars. Do you have a preferred brand? Or should I just transfer the money to you directly?"
Marcus replied quickly.
I could feel the sharp edge of his displeasure in his terse reply: "Camila? Why is your boyfriend buying Blair a gift?"
My heart sank.
Marcus, Blair, and I, while not exactly in the same social stratum, had grown up in the same New York circles.
He was a few years older than us, with a brooding and distant personality. We would occasionally run into each other at various charity galas and polo matches.
During my freshman year of college, I had once complimented his keen eye for selecting horses, and the very next day, Blair began pursuing him relentlessly.
He was an easy conquest for her.
They started dating two weeks later.
Although their relationship was rocky, they got married after Blair graduated.
Unfortunately, Marcus couldn't tolerate Blair's vanity and foolishness, and they divorced after three years.
Still, I didn't want Blair's primary source of income to get the wrong idea.
After all, that joint fund from Marcus was the only thing bankrolling her lavish lifestyle.
I quickly replied to explain, "No, it's not like that. She did my boyfriend a huge favor. And I should be thanking you too, Marcus. My boyfriend's hotel project succeeded thanks to you letting her use those connections."
Marcus immediately shot back, "And here I thought she'd finally grown a brain and done something productive. Turns out she did all this just to throw herself at your boyfriend? She's far more generous with him than she ever was with me."
Before I could say anything to salvage the situation, he sent another message: "Alright, I get it. I'll thank her properly myself. You keep the money."
I returned the money to Preston, telling him Marcus said it wasn't necessary.
Preston sounded confused on the other end of the line.
"Isn't he her ex-husband? What right does he have to meddle in her affairs?"
"He's basically her ATM," I replied. "How else do you think Blair affords her lifestyle and all those Hermès bags?"
Preston fell silent, and the atmosphere grew awkward.
After a long while, he said, "You have a point. It seems I don't know her as well as I thought."
That night, Blair stormed into my apartment in a rage.
She had been drinking, her cheeks were flushed, and she started yelling at me the moment she walked in.
She may have looked drunk, but her insults were lucid and sharp.
Finally, she pointed a finger at my nose and spat, "Do you really think you can be like me, marrying some rich guy to climb the social ladder? Dream on, Camila! You'll never live a life like mine. You ran to Marcus, didn't you? Complained that I stole your boyfriend, hoping he'd cut me off?"
Then, she lifted her chin defiantly and added, "Well, you just watch. Tomorrow, I'll have Preston begging to give me his no-limit black card. A cold fish like you wouldn't know the first thing about seducing a man!"
As soon as the words left her mouth, my bedroom door opened. Preston walked out in a bathrobe, a look of dawning realization on his face. Turns out he had come home early.
God, this drama was getting so tedious.
So, looking as if I'd been deeply wronged, I ran back into my bedroom, leaving them alone in the living room.
From that day on, Preston started working late and traveling more frequently.
When I told him I was available for his family's Thanksgiving dinner, he gently turned me down.
He claimed his parents were vacationing in Europe and that it wasn't a good time.
I knew then what had happened.
Blair had used her well-practiced techniques to get her hooks into him.
She had won. Again.
