Page 12 of The Substitute Fiancée

5. The Shock

Alexander

When I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to remember where I am.

Daylight filters through drawn curtains. The ceiling isn’t mine. Too low. Exposed beams.

For a second, my mind is blank. Then the memories of last night crash back in like an icy wave. My stomach clenches. My chest tightens.

I’m at the Lacroix sisters’ place. In their small apartment in the Marais, on their couch.

I remember Sam letting me collapse into her arms, her arms holding me together. Then she helped me unfold the sofa without asking a single question. I remember her voice, whispering:

“Sleep, Alexander. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Those words kept me from drowning last night.

The pain returns in waves. First dull, then unbearable. I sway between grief and anger, unable to tell which hurts more. Sometimes it’s rage that takes over—the urge to scream, to smash everything, to confront them both. Then sadness engulfs me, that gaping void, the feeling of having been stripped of something I’ll never get back.

What tears me apart the most? Knowing that every moment we shared was tainted by betrayal. Or realizing that the woman I loved never really existed. The caring, loyal Kristel—the one who laughed at my jokes, who rested her head on my shoulder—who was she? An illusion? A performance?

She never loved me. You don’t betray someone you love like that.

How many signs did I ignore? The question tortures me.

The image of their entwined bodies forces itself back into my mind. I try to push it away, but it persists, burned into my eyelids. Cruel. Precise. Their moans still echo in my head. A physical, visceral pain that twists my gut.

And to think I wanted to marry her. God, I’m such a fucking idiot.

Another wave of anger surges through me. All she ever cared about—I see it now—was MatchMapping. The money. The success. The prestige. Being with the CEO of a company about to go public.

I shake myself mentally, refusing to sink into self-pity. I won’t give her that power. But it’s easier said than done. How do you not feel sorry for yourself when your life has just exploded?

I stare at the ceiling beams and try to regain control of my emotions. It’s all I can do right now.

What time is it? I reach for my phone. The screen lights up, assaulting my eyes.

Saturday morning. Eight o’clock.

Saturday. The day I was supposed to propose…

Stop.

Another thought pushes its way into my mind. In two days, there’s the shareholders’ meeting, the second-to-last before our IPO. A dull pressure settles in my chest, as if the air has grown too thick. I was supposed to officially announce my engagement there.

My fingers tighten around my phone.

I had no doubt Kristel would say yes. She was the one who encouraged it, saying that “a married, happy CEO sends a strong signal.” I’d thought the idea brilliant. We’d even let rumors circulate on social media, preparing the ground.

Now I see it for what it was: manipulation.

How am I going to get out of this mess? Up until now, everything has been flawless. MatchMapping hasn’t been a startup in a long time. It’s a well-oiled machine, already profitable, ready to scale.

The IPO is scheduled for mid-January. Millions of euros at stake.

My jaw clenches.

Investors want stability. Reassurance. A confident CEO, well supported. Not a thirty-year-old man discovering, on the eve of a crucial meeting, that his private life was a lie.