His Stand-In, the Don’s Queen

Marcus went straight to Amy to see the copy. An hour later, he stormed back into the gallery, his face a mask of thunder.

"Isabella. We're talking about this at home."

Back at the apartment, he didn't explode like I expected. Instead, he was unnervingly gentle.

"Babe, I know I've been neglecting you," he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "This thing with Victoria, it'll be over soon. Just trust me, okay?"

I stiffened in his arms. In the mirror's reflection, I saw the open collar of his shirt.

Where my name used to be tattooed, there was a new one: Victoria.

The script was elegant, just like her.

My fingers went to the spot without thinking. "This tattoo…"

He quickly pulled his shirt closed. "Isabella, I can explain—"

"Don't," I said, turning to face him. "I just want to know one thing. When did you have mine removed?"

He was silent.

"Was it before she came back, or after?" I pressed.

"Isabella…"

"Answer me."

"Three months ago," he finally whispered. "But I didn't get hers right away, that was…"

"Three months ago?" I cut him off. "So you decided to get rid of me before she was even back in the picture?"

"No! That's not it! I just—"

His phone rang, saving him. The screen lit up: Victoria.

He stared at the phone, torn.

"Answer it," I said. "I'm sure she's more important than this conversation."

He picked up. "Victoria? What's wrong…"

Her crying was audible through the phone, panicked and incoherent.

"Okay, okay, I'm on my way," Marcus said, hanging up. He grabbed his jacket in a rush. "Isabella, Victoria's having an anxiety attack. I have to go check on her…"

"Marcus, we're not done talking."

"We'll talk when I get back, I promise." He was already at the door. "I'll be quick."

The door slammed shut.

I stood in the empty living room, watching the space where he’d been. The last flicker of hope died.

He didn't come back that night. I got another text from Victoria.

This time, the picture was more explicit.

Marcus was lying beside her, shirt half-undone, fast asleep.

The text read: "He says he can only truly relax when he's with me."

I forced myself to look away, ignoring the hollow ache in my chest.

Three days until my flight.

For the next few days, Marcus went dark.

His phone was either off or went straight to voicemail. My texts went unanswered. I went by his office, and his assistant said he’d taken a leave of absence.

I stopped trying to find him and focused on clearing out the apartment.

Anything related to him, I threw out. The crafts we'd made, the portrait he painted of me, the matching mugs… Everything but what was mine.

Then came the sixth day.

Our sixth anniversary. And his birthday.

I figured I owed him a proper goodbye. A clean end to it all.

I left work early and bought the ingredients for all his favorite foods. I prepared a feast. I even bought a chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday, Marcus" written on it.

Seven o'clock. No Marcus.

Eight o'clock. No Marcus.

At nine, a sharp pain hit my stomach.

The milk I'd had earlier must have been bad. Nausea washed over me, followed by intense cramps. I barely made it to the bathroom before I started throwing up violently.

At ten-thirty, I shakily dialed his number.

"Isabella?" His voice sounded exhausted.

"Marcus, I have food poisoning…" I said weakly. "Can you come home?"

"Food poisoning?" His voice turned sharp with irritation. "Isabella, can you stop pulling this shit? Faking sick whenever I'm busy?"

"I'm not faking…"

"Enough!" he exploded. "Victoria is actually sick right now, and she needs me! And you? You always pull these little stunts for attention!"

I leaned against the bathroom wall, the world spinning.

"Marcus, it's your birthday…"

"I know what day it is!" he yelled. "But Victoria is having a full-blown anxiety attack. She needs me more than you do!"

I could hear her faint voice in the background. "Marcus, who are you talking to…?"

"It's nothing, babe. I'll be right back with you," he said gently to her, then his voice hardened for me again. "Isabella, I'll be home later. Get yourself to a hospital. Or call an ambulance."

"Marcus…"

"That's it. I'm hanging up."

Click.

I stared at the phone, listening to the dial tone, and the tears finally came.

By one in the morning, the vomiting had stopped. I took a shower, changed into clean pajamas, and walked into the living room.

The food on the table was cold. The icing on the cake had melted. One by one, I scraped it all into the trash can, including the cake with his birthday wish.

My phone buzzed again. A picture of a sonogram.

"I'm pregnant. He said he's going to marry me."

This time, I didn't look away. I calmly replied:

"Then you'd better hold on to him tight, Victoria."

Then I blocked her number.

At two, I started packing my suitcase.

Six years together, two years living here. I didn't have much. Some clothes, some books, and our photos.

Looking at the pictures, I remembered the good times. He used to love me so much. He'd said I was his whole world, that he'd get a tattoo of my name that he would never, ever remove.

Now, my name was gone. Replaced by hers.

I threw all the photos in the trash.

I sent a quick text to Amy. There were a few things I'd meant to get from Marcus tonight, but since he never showed, she'd have to go get them for me and ship them.

At three in the morning, I stood at the door with my suitcase.

I took out my phone and sent one last text.

Marcus, we're done.

Sent.

Then I blocked his number and deleted him from everything.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I didn't look back.

The taxi driver asked me where I was going.

"The airport," I said.

It was time to start a new life.