Stealing The Fiancé's Shadow

Three months into my gig impersonating the spoiled trust fund idiot, Grant Harrington tossed his burner phone at me and told me to keep his fiance on the hook.

Flirt, Jamie, not fall, Grant warned, his eyes barely lifting from the twenty-year-old on his lap. You mess this up, and your scholarship money is the first thing I cut.

To keep the lights onand, more importantly, to keep my grandmother aliveI spent the next ninety days showering Delaney Croft with sickeningly sweet devotion. Morning and night texts. Weather reports. Even cutesy, slightly breathless voice notes that made my skin crawl.

It worked. Eventually, the untouchable East Coast heiress actually started to thaw.

Then came the night she messaged the burner phone to tell Grant shed sent him a gift.

My mind was clearly running on fumes. I picked up my personal phonemy main, private numberand tapped out a reply: Got it, babe. Love you!

I sent the message and went straight to the shower.

When I came back, the screen was illuminated by a single, icy cold punctuation mark: ?

It was my personal chat with Delaney Croft. Not the burner.

The situation spiraled from bad to catastrophic a few days later. At the welcome-home dinner, Laney decided to call her supposed fiancGrantin front of the entire elite crowd.

I was standing right beside him when my phone, resting innocently in my pocket, let out a cheerful, jarring ring.

It was my third year serving as Grant Harringtons all-purpose gopher. His familys finances were suddenly precarious, and they were strong-arming him into an arranged marriage with the notorious Laney Croftheir to the Croft empire.

Grant, whose ego was as big as his trust fund, wouldn't be caught dead doing the grunt work of a relationship. So, he threw his second phone at me.

You handle the heavy lifting, he drawled, still half-distracted by the ingenue he was currently dating. You bore her, you piss her off, or you break the whole thing off, and I guarantee your tuition for the semester disappears. Find another way to pay for that old womans medical bills.

I clutched the phone like a live grenade.

For that life-saving money, I was forced to channel my inner hopeless romantic, meticulously crafting every cheesy line and heartfelt inquiry.

It was an exhaustive exercise: from basic Good mornings and Good nights to cringey pickup lines, from the five-day weather forecast to her weekly horoscope.

After three months of this fabricated intimacy, Laney Croftthe one they called the Ice Princessactually softened. Her replies grew warmer, her texts longer, and she started initiating conversations.

Until that night. She texted the burner phone to say shed dropped off a gift with the dorm security guard and reminded me to pick it up.

My brain must have short-circuited. I didnt even think, sending a quick reply from my main number: Received! Thank you, babe. Love you the most!

The reply was instantaneous, though I didn't glance at it. I shoved my phone under the pillow and headed to the bathroom, humming a tune.

The cold water hit my face, and the adrenaline kicked in.

Wait.

The burner phonethe Grant phonewas sitting on the desk, plugged in.

So the phone Id just used was

I didn't even bother to towel off my hair. I wrapped myself in a thin bath sheet, bolted back into the room, and snatched up my private cell.

My world went black.

That syrupy, embarrassing Love you the most! message hung there, frozen in time.

Laney didn't respond with her usual 'Aww' or 'Hug' emoji.

She responded with utter, chilling detachment: ?

I scrolled up to her previous message: I left a gift for Grant with the security desk. Make sure he remembers to grab it.

I was ruined.

My hands shook so violently I could barely tap the screen. The dreadful two-minute window for un-sending the message had already passed.

I took a ragged breath, my mind racing for a cover story, before I typed out a desperate, shaky text:

My apologies. Wrong recipient. Lost a bet in Truth or Dare with my girlfriend.

I'll remind Grant about the gift. Thanks.

I felt like a condemned man waiting for the executioner.

About thirty seconds later, Laney replied. As sparse and glacial as before: K.

My heart, which had been lodged in my throat, finally plummeted back to my chest.

I quickly abandoned my personal phone and picked up the burner.

As soon as I unlocked it, Laneys messages popped up, her tone utterly different from the one shed used moments before:

Darling, my work here is finished. Im flying home tomorrow.

When I land, lets get the engagement party planning started. How does that sound?

I stared at the screen, and the fragile sense of relief Id just gained shattered.

Since freshman year, to cover my grandmothers crippling surgery costs, Id signed a devil's bargainbecoming Grant Harringtons exclusive, twenty-four-hour gopher.

I did his laundry, ran errands, wrote his damn papers.

Three months ago, the Harrington family investment firm ran into major trouble, desperate for the cash infusion the Croft Group could provide.

Grant was forced into the courtship with the notoriously demanding Laney Croft, who was overseas tending to an expansion deal. It was a long-distance relationship by necessity.

Grant, with his temper and short attention span, lasted less than three days before throwing the phone across the room, complaining that Laney was a total ice block and not worth the effort.

To save his familys futureand, consequently, my paycheckhe came up with the toxic solution: have me impersonate him.

Just keep her happy, and the moneys yours.

I looked at the pitiful balance in my bank account and took the job.

To execute the role of the devoted, romantic boyfriend, I studied Laney Crofts social media and public profiles religiously.

What she loved, what she hated, her taste in music, her favorite novelsI knew them better than I knew myself.

When she was stressed, I sent jokes; when she was tired, I recorded myself playing soft piano pieces.

Slowly, her detached Hmm and Okay transformed into long, emotionally resonant voice notes. She started sharing her daily schedule without being asked.

I convinced myself this was nothing more than a profitable transactionuntil she announced she was returning home to get engaged.

I knew my performance had reached its final curtain.

I spent an all-nighter compiling a multi-page, hyper-detailed dossier.

I meticulously outlined every one of Laneys likes, dislikes, favorite private jokes from our chats, and even her known emotional triggers.

After printing it, I headed downstairs to the security desk to collect the gift shed sent. I drove straight to Grants ridiculously expensive off-campus apartment.

When I walked in, Grant was having a loud, messy party with a few friends. Empty bottles and junk food cartons were scattered everywhere.

I handed him the gift and relayed the news about Laneys return.

Grant nonchalantly took the box, ripped it open, and peered inside.

A hand-stitched rabbit plushie lay nestled within. It was beautifully crafted, clearly high quality, and probably took hours to make.

Grant held it up by one ear, his face screwed up in disgust. What is this garbage? A cheap bunny? Is she trying to treat me like a five-year-old?

I kept my voice low. I mentioned I liked rabbits once, in a message. Maybe she remembered.

So lame. Grant tossed the plushie back at me. Take this cheap crap. I dont want it cluttering up my space.

Next time, remind her I like a Patek Philippe, or maybe a new Tesla, not some kindergarten craft project.

I clutched the rabbit close. I knew it was hers; shed shown me a half-finished video of it a few weeks prior, her fingers taped up with small bandages.

I suppressed the bitter pang in my chest and handed him the binder. This is the dossier. All the details. You need to review this before you meet her.

Grant didn't even look at it. Yeah, yeah, whatever. God, youre so tedious, Jamie. Are you my mother now?

I swallowed my reply and said no more.

A few days later, Laney arrived.

Grant dressed in his most expensive suit and took me along to the welcome-home dinner.

I walked silently behind him, a human shadow tasked with carrying his files.

At the entrance to the exclusive private dining room, Grants current girlfriend called. He turned to me. Go in and grab a table. Ill take this call in the hall.

I nodded and pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit. Before I could fully assess the occupants, a long, elegant hand reached out and took the bag from me.

The hand then slid down my arm, fingers gently but firmly lacing around mine.

A low, amused voice exploded in my ear. That messenger bagthe one you said you liked? It really suits you.

It was Laney.

Id heard that voice a hundred times over the phone, but hearing it live, so close, sent an electric current down my spine.

I froze, lifting my head awkwardly.

In the dim light, Laneys eyes finally focused on my face.

The soft smile on her lips instantly solidified. The hand holding mine recoiled as if Id electrocuted her.

My apologies, she said, her voice dropping to a chill. I mistook you for someone else.

Just then, Grant pushed the door open. He saw us standing opposite each other and asked, puzzled, Whats the hold-up? Playing doorman, Jamie?

Laneys expression snapped back to the picture of poise. She stepped past me, went straight to Grant, and took his arm, offering a dazzling, soft smile. Nothing, darling. I saw his silhouette and thought it was you for a second. My mistake.

Grant chuckled, and the two walked into the room arm-in-arm.

I trailed behind, finding the most inconspicuous spot in the corner.

Laneys crowd was the East Coast eliteold money, fast living.

Grant, eager to please, immediately started charming everyone.

After a few rounds of drinks, Grant decided to play the doting fianc. He peeled a large shrimp and, smiling sweetly, held it up to Laneys lips. Open up, babe. Say ahhh

The air in the room instantly thickened.

A few of her closest friends exchanged nervous glances.

My stomach dropped.

In the very first line of that dossier Id given Grant, printed in bold, red, ALL CAPS text was the warning: LANEY CROFT HAS A SEVERE, LIFE-THREATENING SHELLFISH ALLERGY. A SINGLE SHRIMP COULD CAUSE ANAPHYLACTIC SHOCK.

Grant hadn't read a word.

Laney stared at the shrimp, her eyes unreadable, and didnt open her mouth.

Before the moment could crystallize into complete disaster, I blurted out a soft warning from the back of the room: Shes allergic to shellfish.

Grants motion stuttered. But he recovered instantly.

He rotated his wrist, popped the shrimp into his own mouth, and winked at Laney. Gotcha! Just kidding, babe. I knew you couldnt. Just trying to mess with you a little, see you squirm.

Laneys rigid composure relaxed. She laughed, a low, dismissive sound. Youre so funny.

The crisis was averted.

I sighed in relief and took a long drink of the juice in front of me.

After dinner, the crowd moved on to the usual fare: Truth or Dare.

Halfway through the game, Grant announced he needed the restroom and told Laney to wait up.

My cheap messenger bag and his expensive leather one looked similar and were placed side-by-side on the sofa.

Laney reached for what she thought was Grants, accidentally knocking mine to the floor.

Thwack.

The contents spilled everywhere.

The hand-stitched rabbit plushie rolled out, completely exposed in the ambient light.

Laneys hand, which had been reaching to gather the scattered items, froze.

She picked up the rabbit, her thumb lightly tracing the small, slightly crooked D shed embroidered on one of its ears.

This bunny She lifted her head, her gaze piercing me. Why do you have this?

In that instant, I felt the blood drain from my entire body.

How could I explain?

Say it was a common design? It was a unique piece, made by her.

Say I was holding it for Grant? Grant had walked out empty-handed.

My mind was a catastrophic mess of fear.

Before I could form a single coherent thought, Grants voice shrieked from the doorway.

Jamie Brooks! What the helldid you just steal this?!

He stormed over, snatched the bunny from Laney, his face contorted in manufactured rage.

Ive been nothing but good to you, given you money and a place to stay, and you knew this was Laneys engagement gift to me! Why would you steal it?!

The room erupted in whispers. Contemptuous stares stabbed me like a thousand needles.

Oh my God, you cant trust anyone. He looks so quiet and harmless, but hes a thief.

Thats absolutely disgusting, stealing your boyfriends gift. Is he some kind of lowlife with a fetish?

Hes probably just jealous of Grant. Trying to get the Croft heirs attention? Pathetic.

I opened my mouth to defend myself.

Grant suddenly pulled me into a feigned embrace, and in a voice only I could hear, he hissed into my ear:

You say one word, and your grandmothers surgery money is gone. Every cent.

Take the fall. Ill transfer you five grand later.

That five thousand dollars was my grandmothers vital next months medical payment.

Every shred of my dignity, every ounce of my mounting bitterness, was worthless against that cold, necessary number.

I dug my fingernails into my palms, the pain a single tether to reality.

I lowered my head, my voice raspy and unrecognizable. Im sorry. I stole it.

It was so cute, I had a moment of stupidity I apologize.

Grant smiled, a look of smug benevolence on his face.

Fine. Since youve confessed, I wont press charges.

He turned to Laney and took her hand. Laney, dont be upset. Jamie comes from nothing. Hes never seen nice things before. He just had a moment of weakness.

Laney shot me a cold, penetrating look, thick with distaste and aversion, as if I were a piece of refuse.

She didn't speak. She simply took the rabbit that I had just touched and dropped it into the nearest waste bin.

Its tainted now. Trash. She shrugged. Ill make you a new one, babe.

A crushing weight slammed into my chest. That rabbit was made from hours of her effortI'd watched her work on it on videoand now, because my fingers had grazed it, it was garbage.

The game resumed, the atmosphere now tense and strange.

Unfortunately, I lost.

The one holding the King card was none other than Laney Croft.

She leaned back on the sofa, twirling an eyeliner pencil between her fingers. Her eyes flicked to me, and a small, cruel smirk twisted her lips.

Dare, hmm Lets go with this: Pick an opposite-sex person here and feed them something.

She paused, then added: No hands. Mouth to mouth.

The room went completely silent.

It was pure, undiluted humiliation.

But I had no right to refuse.

I scanned the faces. Everyone avoided my eyes as if I carried a contagious disease.

Just as I felt the blood rushing to my face, a plump, aggressively sleazy girl named Tasha Rourke stood up. She was known for her promiscuous reputation.

Since no one wants the honor, I suppose I can lower myself to help out.

She offered a predatory, leering smile. Someone handed her a long, thin pretzel stick.

Tasha bit one end, signaling for me to take the other.

I looked at her shiny, oily face, my stomach turning a violent somersault.

I leaned forward, trembling. Just as my lips were about to touch the pretzel, I couldnt stop myself. I turned my head and gave a small, dry retch.

Enough!

Grant finally stepped in. He didn't want the spectacle to ruin his image.

Laney, lets not take this too far. Its gross.

Laney didnt press it. She threw the card down. Fine. Lets wrap it up.

Tasha sat back down, disappointment etched on her face, and shot me a murderous glare as she left.

After the dinner, I drove Grant back to his apartment.

At the entrance to his building, his phone pinged. Five thousand dollars hit my account.

Keep your mouth shut, and there will be more where that came from.

He strode into the house in his expensive loafers.

I sat in the car, staring at my phone screen.

The burner phonethe one I used to text Laneysuddenly lit up.

The message from her was so soft, so honey-sweet, it could drip off the screen: Hey, babe. Guess I took care of that disgusting little gopher for you tonight. He looked completely crushed. Don't let a lowlife like that ruin your mood. XOXO.

I stared at the words, and the tears Id held back all evening finally broke.

The next day, I was working my shift at The Buttercup bakery.

I still needed tens of thousands of dollars for my grandmothers full course of treatment, and Grant's sporadic payments weren't enough.

The lunch rush was over, and the shop was quiet.

The bell above the door jingled, and Tasha Rourke walked in.

She walked straight to the counter, not buying anything, just staring at me.

Jamie Brooks, right? Last night wasnt very satisfying. How about we pick up where we left off somewhere else?

She reached across the counter to grab my hand.

I recoiled violently. Ms. Rourke, there are security cameras. I advise you to back off.

Oh, playing the victim now? Tasha sneered. You steal Grants throwaways. Youre desperate for cash, aren't you?

Work for me. Ill give you fifty grand. Fifty times five grand.

She rounded the counter and grabbed my wrist with surprising, brutal force.

Let go! I struggled, but she was like a solid wall of muscle.

In desperation, I grabbed the nearest objecta sharp ballpoint penand slammed it down into her hand.

Agh!

Tasha cried out, releasing my wrist.

Blood immediately pooled on her skin. I used the opportunity to sprint toward the back kitchen.

You little bastard! You stabbed me!

Tashas eyes were bloodshot. She grabbed a chair and chased after me.

Just as she was about to tackle me, the shop door was kicked open with a thunderous CRASH.

A slender figure in a tailored black suit stormed in and delivered a vicious, textbook-perfect roundhouse kick to Tashas stomach.

Tasha flew backward like a sack of rocks, smashing into the wall, where she collapsed, groaning.

I stared, utterly stunned, at the woman who was now standing between us.

It was Laney Croft.

Why was she here? How did she have that kind of strength?

Laney calmly smoothed the fabric of her skirt and looked down at Tasha. Her voice was pure ice.

You dare cause a scene in my territory? Do you have a death wish?

Tasha recognized the danger. Her fear was palpable. She scrambled to her feet and fled, tripping over herself.

The shop fell silent.

Laney slowly turned, her focus landing on me.

I instinctively flinched.

She didn't move. She just pulled a pack of tissues from her pocket and tossed it to me. Wipe your face. Youre filthy.

I caught the tissues and murmured a thank you.

Dont read too much into it. Her voice was as remote as ever. Youre Grants property. If something happens to you, hell be inconvenienced.

I just don't want to deal with his complaints.

Of course.

I gave a dry, self-deprecating smile. Any absurd flutter of hope died instantly.

I understand, Ms. Croft. Thank you.

My replacement arrived. I gathered my belongings and prepared to leave.

Laney followed me.

Get in. Im heading to Grants place anyway. I can drop you off.

Before I could refuse, she unlocked the passenger door and gave me an unyielding look.

I had no choice. I got into the passenger seat.

The silence in the car was heavy.

Laney didn't remember.

But we had met years ago.

I was fifteen. My parents had divorced, remarried, and neither wanted the burden of a teenage son.

I was kicked out and living on the street.

That night, I was huddled outside a corner bodega, starving.

I needed fifty dollars for a textbook fee the next day, and I was completely broke. I tried asking the local pizza joint if they needed a dishwasher, but the owner waved me off.

Beat it, kid. Youre bad for business.

Just as I was sinking into despair, a clear, crisp voice spoke behind me.

How much do you need?

I looked back. A girl in a private school uniform was standing there, holding a bottle of water, looking down at me.

Laney Croft back then had none of the ice she carried now. She was clean and luminousan angel.

I sniffled. Fifty dollars.

She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her wallet and handed it to me.

Keep the change.

I froze, shaking my head violently. No, I cant take charity.

I ran into the bodega, got the bill broken, and ran back, handing her the fifty-dollar change.

Consider it a loan. I will pay you back.

I gathered my courage and asked, Whats your name?

She took the money back, smiled faintly, and said, Delaney Croft.

That single smile lit up my entire gray, desolate adolescence.

Unfortunately, she had long forgotten the desperate, dirty boy outside the deli.

Now, her focus, her affection, was entirely on Grant Harrington.

The light turned red. The car stopped.

Laney picked up her phone, her elegant fingers tapping away at the screen.

The next second, my phone, in my pocket, vibrated.