Not His First Choice

The air went cold.

Ellie dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry, Ms. Beaumont. This is my fault.

"Troy, don't argue because of me. It's not worth it."

She knew I was mad out of jealousy—and flipped it into a status play.

Smart.

Her eyes went red on cue. I almost laughed. "Ellie, you like riding, right? I'll give you a horse. Ride whenever you want."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

My voice went cold. "Know your place. You're just an assistant. If it's not yours, don't touch it."

Troy finally clocked that I was actually mad and rushed over. "Belinda, I'm sorry. Today's our anniversary—and your birthday."

He leaned in close. "I didn't get you a gift this year. So I thought... I'd give you me."

He shifted, just enough to show the bow at his neck.

I'd known Troy for ten years. Been with him for eight.

Every time he forgot my birthday, he pulled the same move to get me to forgive him.

Eight years—seven times.

I really thought this year would be different. Our last year before marriage.

Yeah. I overthought that.

From start to finish, I was the one giving more.

At dinner, I barely spoke.

At first, he tried—jokes, small talk, all of it. Trying to get a smile out of me.

A few tries in, he gave up. Got annoyed.

Only after we got home did he switch back to his usual easygoing self.

He brushed a kiss against the corner of my lips. "I'll shower first. Wait for your gift."

I followed him into the bedroom.

Stuff was already laid out across the bed.

Real subtle.

That was part of why I'd stayed so devoted to Troy.

He always knew how to smooth things over after pushing me too far.

My expression darkened. I grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the guest bathroom.

The second I walked in, something felt off.

In the trash—worn women's underwear. Still stained.

Bold lace. Definitely not mine.

He'd asked me to wear stuff like that before. I always said no.

My chest sank.

I went back and sat on the bed, waiting.

Troy came out in a sheer shirt, grabbed a pair of cat ears, and slipped them on. "Belinda, help me with the tail?"

I held it, not moving. "Why is there women's underwear in the guest bathroom trash?"

Troy froze. Panic flashed in his eyes. "That... I don't know. I'll ask tomorrow. Maybe Margaret tossed it by mistake."

Margaret. The housekeeper.

"She's over sixty. Why would she wear something like that?"

"I—"

He scrambled off the bed, trying to explain, coming up with nothing.

Then his phone rang—sharp, urgent.

He picked up. Two sentences in, his face changed.

He ripped off the cat ears, grabbed a coat, and headed out.

I caught his hand. "Where are you going?"

"Ellie got in a car accident on the way back. She's alone here. I'm going to check on her."

I didn't let go. "Send someone from HR. You don't need to go yourself."

His face darkened. "Belinda Beaumont, can you stop making everything about you? She's alone in Rivera—that's hard enough. I just want to help her, and you're jealous of this? That's childish."

That anger made everything I'd done feel stupid.

The last bit of hope I had left dropped straight into disappointment.

I watched him walk out, then called my dad.

"Dad, I'll do the arranged marriage."