After His First Love Framed Me, I Chose His Rival

I stood in the hallway outside Travis's apartment with my coat still buttoned and my keys in my hand. The door was half-open. I'd come early — twenty minutes early, because I was excited. Tonight was supposed to be the night. Three years of secrecy, and Travis had finally said we could go public. I'd imagined it a dozen times: his hand in mine at dinner, his friends meeting me as his girlfriend, not just "Cain's sister" or "a friend from the Upper East Side."

Then I heard his voice.

He was on the phone in the living room. His tone was light, satisfied, the way it got when he closed a deal. I almost called out to him. Then I heard my name.

"Alyssa played her part perfectly," he said. "I knew she would. She's loyal like that. Kept everything quiet, never pushed, never made a scene. Exactly what I needed."

I stopped moving.

"Yeah, the plan worked," Travis continued. "Dayana's flying back next week. She finally cracked. Three years of watching me with someone else was enough, I guess. She called yesterday and said she's ready to come home."

There was a pause. He laughed — easy, careless.

"No, I'll handle Alyssa. She won't be a problem. She's not the type to make a mess. I'll let her down easy. She'll understand."

I stood there for thirty seconds. Maybe longer. My pulse was steady. My hands didn't shake. I looked down at the keys in my palm — the apartment key he'd given me six months ago, the little silver keychain with my initials that I'd bought because I thought it meant something.

I walked inside. Set the keys on the entry table. Turned around. Closed the door without a sound.

The cab driver asked me twice where I was going. I didn't answer. I watched six blocks of Tribeca roll past the window — the cobblestones, the cast-iron buildings, the people walking dogs and holding coffee cups like the world was exactly what they thought it was.

Then I pulled out my phone and called Cain.

He picked up on the first ring. "Lyssa?"

"I overheard enough," I said. My voice sounded normal. Calm. "I'm done. The engagement you mentioned — Rafael Sullivan. I'm ready."

There was a long silence on the other end. Cain had been pushing the arranged match for months. I'd dismissed it every time. Too fast. Too transactional. Too much like giving up.

Now it sounded like the only thing that made sense.

"I'll handle everything," Cain said quietly.

I closed my eyes. "I know."

I hung up. The cab driver was still waiting. I gave him my address. He pulled into traffic. I didn't cry.

Three days later, Travis threw a welcome-back party for Dayana.

It was at a rooftop lounge in Tribeca — all glass and steel and strings of lights against the skyline. Everyone we knew was there. I wore black. Cain stood beside me at the bar and didn't say a word, but I felt his presence like a wall at my back.

Dayana arrived in a white dress, her hair loose and soft, her smile shy and perfect. She looked exactly like the girl Travis had described to me once, years ago, when I'd asked why he never talked about his exes. "There was one," he'd said. "But she's gone. It didn't work out."

I watched her cross the room. Watched Travis meet her halfway. Watched him take her hand.

Then he raised his glass.

"I just want to say," Travis announced, his voice carrying easily over the crowd, "that I'm happily single and exactly where I belong."

People laughed. Someone clapped. Dayana looked down, biting her lip like she was embarrassed. Travis grinned.

I felt Cain go still beside me.

"Don't," I said quietly.

He didn't listen.

Cain crossed the bar in four strides and hit Travis clean across the jaw. The sound was sharp and final. Travis staggered back into a table. Glasses shattered. The room went silent.

Cain took my arm. "We're leaving."

I let him guide me toward the exit. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I already knew what Travis's face would look like — shocked, confused, like he couldn't understand why anyone would be angry.

He never did understand.

The next morning, Cain arranged a dinner.

"Le Bernardin," he said over the phone. "Private room. Seven o'clock. Rafael will be there."

"Okay," I said.

"Lyssa," Cain added, his voice softer. "He's a good man."

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure I believed in good men anymore.

But I showed up.

Rafael Sullivan was already seated when I arrived. He stood when I entered — tall, composed, in a dark suit that fit like it had been made for him. Probably because it had. He didn't smile. He didn't offer the kind of easy charm I'd expected. He just looked at me.

"Alyssa," he said. "Thank you for coming."

I sat down. The room was quiet. No music. No other diners. Just us and a single candle on the table.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," Rafael said.

I met his eyes. They were dark, steady, unreadable.

"No," I said. "It's not."

He nodded slowly. "Then let's be honest. You don't have to pretend with me."

I wasn't sure what I'd expected him to say. But it wasn't that.

We talked for two hours. He asked questions. He listened. He didn't try to fill the silences. And when I traced the rim of my water glass without thinking, I saw his gaze flicker down, just once, before returning to my face.

He noticed.

I left dinner more unsettled than I'd arrived.

The next morning, I went back to Travis's apartment one last time.

I packed everything I'd ever left there into a single box. My toothbrush. My spare sweater. The book I'd been reading on his nightstand. I moved through the rooms methodically, checking every drawer, every shelf.

Then I saw it.

Dayana's overnight bag in the hallway. Her perfume on the bathroom counter. Her silk robe hanging on the back of the door like it had always been there.

I stood in the doorway and stared at it.

The bedroom door opened. Dayana stepped out, barefoot, wearing one of Travis's shirts. She stopped when she saw me. Her eyes went wide.

"Oh," she said softly. "I didn't know you'd be here."

I looked at her. At the shirt. At the performance of surprise on her face.

"Travis always spoke of you like a sister," she added, her voice gentle. Sympathetic.

I picked up the box. Walked to the kitchen. Set it on the counter. Then I pulled the cream-colored invitation from my purse and placed it on top.

"My birthday gala," I said. "Next Saturday. You're both welcome to attend."

Dayana blinked. "Oh. I—"

"It's also my engagement announcement," I added.

I turned and walked out.

I didn't wait for a response.