The Girl He Called Practice

p to Stanford to follow my boyf

f love, until I heard him laughing

ent that his "simple" girlfrie

he sneered. "She was just practice

od ran

ty net" to keep his bed warm while he pursued

hetic, loyal, and wo

ir

tly mastering French to

d every sin

t confr

t make

thdrew my application from Columbia,

" was gone, I was already across the co

pte

Case

t I was, had believed every single word. Now, the low murmur of his voice from the living room, punctuated by another man' s deeper tones, sliced through the fragile peace of the pre-dawn apartment.

a tool he used to exude an air of exclusivity, to mark boundaries for those he deemed "outsiders." I was supposed to be an insider. I' d spent years learning French, secretly, meticulously, hoping to impress

ique, mon ami. Une séance d

all." Every atom in my body screamed, froze, shattered. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp. The glass I held trembled

nowing sound. "Et main

ra est bonne pour garder le lit au chaud. Toujours

real target?

. Kiera is good for keeping the bed warm. Alw

und me. It wasn't just a breakup; it was a demolition. He saw me as a placeholder, a convenience, a warm body until the "real prize" came along. And his certainty that I would "never lea

ng, humming a tune from the playlist we' d created together. He paused in the doorway of the kitc

s that now felt like venom. He moved towards me, wrapping an arm around

over me, hot and cold at the same time. I managed a weak smile, pulling away gently. "Just thirsty. I' m going ba

ct world had just imploded, and the debris was all over the floor. I stumbled to my bed, collapsing onto the duvet, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The tears came then, hot and stinging, burning tracks down m

mother's funeral, a silent anchor in my grief. All the late-night study sessions, the dreams we'd shared, planning our lives together at Columbia. He'd alw

ightstand, making me jum

office early. Big meeting about the Ramsey Tower acqu

.. it was a fresh stab. He wasn't thinking of me, not really. He was thinking of his public image, his "prize." He was

and profound disgust washed over me. With trembling fingers, I tapped on the message, deleting it. Then, with a fierce resolve I hadn' t known I possessed, I found his contact. Block. Bl

g, always supporting. I'd been his biggest cheerleader, his most loyal confidante, his unofficial assistant, always ready to lend a hand, always there to pick up the pieces when one of his fleeting romances inevitably crashed. He' d leaned on me, confided in me, and sometimes, in unguarded moments, he' d looked at me with an intensity that made my heart pound, making me believe he saw me, tru

Paris. Her face, framed by a messy bun, filled the screen, a wide grin splitting her face. "Girl, you will NOT believe what I ju

No. It couldn't

e. And there he was. Felix Decker. Laughing, his head thrown back, his arm draped possessively around the waist of a stunning woman with impossibly long, blonde hair and a dazzling smile. Bella Ramse