The Stand-In Transaction

Before graduation, Holden Blackwood, the heir to a fortune, got brutally dumped by the most popular girl in school.
I was gnawing on a dry bagel, sidling up to him as he stared blankly out the window, his textbooks forgotten.
You know, I said, I kind of look like her. Why don't you go for me instead?
He was silent for a long moment, then he handed me the single perfect rose he’d been about to give her.
I accepted my role with zero guilt, milking it for all it was worth. A million dollars a month, I demanded.
He didn't argue. He sent two.
After we got married, it was clockwork. Sex four times a week, always on schedule, service with a smile.
Everyone said Holden had finally found his true love.
Until the day his assistant quietly pulled me aside.
"That new secretary Mr. Blackwood just hired... I hear she used to be the most popular girl back in your high school.
"Ma'am, he seems to really like her. He gave her your favorite private lounge..."

1
I only ever wanted Holden Blackwood for his money.
The man was a hopeless romantic, the kind who showered his girlfriend with gifts. While I was scraping by, so hungry I’d count a stale bagel as a meal, I could only envy Sophia, who wore $200,000 earrings before she even had a diploma.
What I couldn't understand was why she'd throw away a man like Holden for some broke scholarship kid.
So, the moment Sophia slapped Holden across the face and stormed off, I blocked her path at the classroom door.
"Are you two really over?"
She shot a disdainful look at my frayed school uniform and flicked my hand off her arm. "Yes. We're over."
"So, can I make a move on him?"
Her eyes raked over my shabby clothes, and a smirk blossomed on her face. "Sure. Go for it. If you actually manage to land him, I'll give you these earrings."
My gaze fixed on the glittering diamonds he'd given her. I nodded.
At our graduation party, when Holden walked in with his arm wrapped around my waist, Sophia’s smile froze on her face.
The second Holden stepped away to the restroom, she requested a song for me. As the lyrics "cheating bitch" echoed through the bar, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to me.
"You're pathetic, Chloe," Sophia sneered.
I knew exactly what Holden saw me as. A stand-in. A replacement.
But I just grabbed a bottle of champagne, popped the cork, and poured the entire thing over her perfectly styled hair. Then, I plucked the earrings from her lobes.
"A bet's a bet," I said coolly. "If you didn't want me to have him, you shouldn't have gotten engaged to that charity case."
"Chloe!" she shrieked, lunging at me. But a strong arm yanked me back, and Holden took the force of her slap for me.
He pulled me out of the bar, and we drove in suffocating silence. He was hurting, I knew. His heart still ached for her.
And I knew my place.
I followed Sophia on Instagram. Every new outfit she posted, I bought the exact same one. And I’d wear it on our designated nights together.
Each time he saw me dressed in her style, a flicker of something unreadable would cross his face. I knew he was looking at her, not me. That he secretly stalked her profile too, seeing in me a ghost of the girl he’d lost.
My best friend, Mia, was furious for me. I was his wife, after all.
But I didn't mind.
I asked for a million a month; he gave me two.
I pushed my luck and asked for three; he wired me five.
With a life like this, who needed love?
I was born into a world devoid of affection and money. I would claw at any opportunity to make a buck, shame be damned. As long as Holden was still interested in this game, I was going to play my part to perfection.
On our first anniversary, Sophia posted a new photo. A delicate butterfly tattooed on the nape of her neck.
Tears streamed down my face as the needle dug into my skin, but ten agonizing hours later, I had a perfect replica.
When Holden emerged from the shower, toweling his hair, he stopped dead. He saw me, perched on the bed in a lavender lace nightgown, the fresh tattoo on my neck exposed.
"What's wrong? You don't like it?"
"Don't ever do this again," he said, his voice flat. He showed no interest in the butterfly. "And get rid of all your purple clothes."
My heart sank. Lavender was Sophia's favorite color.
Was he tired of me mimicking his first love? Was my time as the stand-in finally over?
"I mean, it must have hurt," he clarified, flicking my forehead gently. "From now on, you don't have to copy her. I'll still give you plenty of money."
The next day, our housekeeper cleared every last purple item from my closet. I didn’t care; I’d always hated the color anyway. She replaced them with racks of elegant black dresses. I ran my hand over the exquisite fabric.
He knew I loved black?
But if I wasn't Sophia's clone anymore, what was my purpose?
To test the waters, I asked for eight million.
He gave me an unlimited black card. A companion card to his own.
While shopping with Mia, she poked me. "I thought your plan was to stick it out for five years, then take the money and run. It's almost been five years. When are you filing for divorce?"
I found my gaze fixed on a display of tiny baby clothes in a shop window, and for a moment, I was lost in thought.

2
I had been Holden Blackwood's substitute for five years.
I didn't know what it felt like to truly love someone. My only reference point was a faded memory of my mother, before she left with another man. The kindest thing she ever did for me was knit me a scarf.
Now, my fingers were covered in bandages, but the scarf was finished.
It seemed Holden didn't need it anymore. It was one of our nights, and he was half an hour late.
I waited on the sofa until I drifted off, only to be woken by a soft kiss.
"Sorry," Holden murmured, his breath hot and restrained as he undid his tie. "A client added a last-minute clause. I got held up."
For the first time ever, I pushed him away. "When are you planning to divorce me?"
His breath hitched. "What are you talking about?"
I looked up at him. "I know she's back. You even gave her my favorite lounge at the office. I checked—my access has been revoked."
His muscles tensed.
"Holden, don't get me wrong. I won't cling to you. I don't even need a huge settlement. Just give me—"
He was already on his phone, his tone colder than I'd ever heard it. "Secretary? What secretary? What's this about the lounge? Since when does my staff get shuffled around without my approval?"
On the other end, the head of HR stammered, "Mr. Blackwood, she showed us photos of the two of you from back when you were dating. She said... she said your wife stole you from her. And your wife does look a lot like Ms. Sophia, and the photos were definitely of you, so we just assumed..."
Holden's expression was glacial. "Blacklist Sophia from the entire industry. I want to see my wife's access to that lounge restored within the hour. And you? Go to accounting and pick up your final paycheck."
The HR manager tried to protest, but Holden had already hung up.
I stared at him, stunned.
He turned and pulled me into a fierce embrace, his lips crashing down on mine. "I'm sorry," he whispered against my mouth. "I had no idea. I've been away from the main office..."
I believed him. He was always jetting around the globe for business. But no matter how far he was, he never missed one of our four nights a week.
Still, a seed of doubt remained. I clutched the front of his shirt. "You're not worried she'll be heartbroken? Blacklisting your old flame like that?"
"What old flame?" he growled, kissing me until I was breathless. "I only have you."
"Are you... telling me how you feel?"
"Yes."
"Then, Holden," I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on tight. "What am I to you?"
He paused, then his lips found mine again, more intense this time. "You're my wife."
A shiver went through me. "Then from now on, I'm going to start acting like it."
"It's about time you did."
Neither of us slept that night.

3
My knitting had improved. I unraveled the first scarf and re-knit it, making it bigger, warmer.
But then Mia sent me a video.
In the clip, Holden was in Monaco. After a meeting at his private villa, he was walking under a black umbrella as it poured. He passed Sophia.
Since being blacklisted, she had nowhere to go. She couldn't even make rent.
Soaked to the bone, her purple dress clung to her curves. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice trembling in the wind. "Holden..."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then he walked right past her without a backward glance.
"Holden! Have you forgotten everything we had?" she cried out after him, her voice desperate.
He never turned around.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he knew his place.
But I had underestimated Sophia's persistence. The storm raged all night, and she stood outside his villa all night.
Until she finally collapsed.
A black umbrella appeared in my line of sight on the screen. Sophia forced her eyes open, looking up at the man holding it.
Holden was perfectly dry, his chiseled face unreadable. But the umbrella was tilted, ever so slightly, in her direction.
The next day, Holden flew back to New York as planned.
But he gave Sophia the villa in Monaco.
"Chloe, what does this mean?" Mia fretted. "Holden only ever spends money on his women!"
I thought for a moment. "If he sees me as his wife, then I'll act like one."
That same day, Sophia was evicted from the villa.
And for the first time since our wedding, Holden missed one of our nights.
I called him a dozen times. He didn't pick up.
He came home the next day, looking exhausted, his eyes bloodshot.
"Did you have her thrown out?"
I didn't flinch. "Yes."
"Who gave you permission to be so unreasonable?"
The accusation in his tone stunned me. I looked up. "Are you saying that as your wife, I'm supposed to tolerate your ex-girlfriend living in our property?"
Holden didn't answer. He just scowled and tossed his phone at me, a video playing on the screen.
In it, Sophia was being dragged into an alley by a group of men, her purple dress torn to shreds.
Holden's voice trembled with rage. "If I hadn't gotten there in time, she would have been... violated."
I stared coldly at the screen. "What do you want me to do?"
"Go to the hospital. Apologize to her."
"Holden," I pushed the phone back at him. "I will not apologize to the other woman."
"The other woman?" A cruel, unfamiliar sneer twisted his lips. "If we're getting technical about it, aren't you the other woman?"
The air left my lungs.
He didn't see my shock. He just turned and walked away. For the first time ever, he slammed the door.
I sat alone on the sofa until the dead of night, my phone buzzing with messages from friends.
Chloe! What's going on? Why did Holden drop everything to sit by some other woman's hospital bed?
They're saying she's his first love. That's not true, is it?
Chloe, get to the hospital! You're about to lose your husband!
I didn't reply to any of them.
Instead, I packed my bags. When Holden came home three days later, he saw my suitcase and let out a short, humorless laugh.
"What's this? Running away from home?"
I handed him the divorce papers. "It's over. You can keep the settlement."
The teacup in his hand froze midway to his lips.

4
He scanned the agreement, page by page, his expression grim. His hands were trembling slightly.
"Divorce me? Who's going to give you that kind of money?"
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Blackwood. I won't starve."
He hesitated. "Fine. We can get a divorce. But you have to return every penny I ever spent on you."
I froze.
After five years as his stand-in, I'd earned a lot, but I’d also spent a fair bit.
Seeing my hesitation, a flicker of relief crossed his face. "Can't pay it back? That's fine. Just as long as you don't..."
"I can."
He stared at me.
I’ve always been insecure about money. No matter how much I had, I never spent lavishly. Even with a nine-figure bank balance, my idea of a feast when Holden was out of town was still ramen with a couple of eggs.
Over five years, I'd made hundreds of millions, but I’d only spent two.
I handed him my bank card. Then I reached up and unclasped the $200,000 earrings from my ears—the ones that would just about cover what I'd spent.
"I won these from Sophia in a bet. Technically, they're mine. Here. Now we're even."
I took his hand and placed the earrings in his palm.
As I turned to leave, he dropped them with a clatter and grabbed my wrist. "Don't go! I didn't really mean it!"
The famously eloquent Holden Blackwood was suddenly at a loss for words.
"Holden, let me go—" I snapped, turning back, but the words died in my throat.
A single tear hit the back of my hand. I stared at him, incredulous. "Are you... crying?"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes red. "Don't do this to me."
I'd never seen a man like him cry. If a photographer caught this, Blackwood Industries' stock would plummet.
So I sat down, and I listened.
It turned out he hadn't been at the hospital for days. He'd asked his friends to send me those messages to provoke me. He thought I had been the one who arranged for those men to attack Sophia.
He couldn't accept me doing something so vile. Kicking her out was one thing, but hiring thugs to violate a woman was something else entirely. He had put her in the hospital and visited her frequently only to ensure she wouldn't press charges against me.
"Calling you the other woman... I was angry. I'm so sorry," he pleaded, his eyes swimming.
I was silent for a long time. "Holden, you really hurt me this time."
A flash of pain crossed his face.
"But I'll give you one more chance."
His eyes lit up.
"I want you to cut off all contact with Sophia. Send her away. Far, far away."
"Okay," he squeezed my hand, clutching it like a lifeline. "I promise."

5
Holden was a man of his word.
The next day, Sophia was on a flight out of the country. Her destination: the same place her broke ex-boyfriend was currently backpacking.
Holden seemed consumed with guilt over hurting me. His right-hand man secretly tipped me off—at this weekend's press conference, Holden was going to officially announce his wife to the world.
We had a secret marriage. As his canary in a gilded cage, I'd never had a problem with it. But now, I found myself looking forward to the announcement with a giddy anticipation.
He was more passionate than ever during our nights that week. Afterwards, he’d hold me tight. "There's a press conference this weekend," he'd murmur. "I want you to come with me."
I smiled, pretending not to know. "Okay."
That weekend, I arrived as planned. Holden's assistant personally led me to a seat in the front row, right where the spotlight would hit. The entire room was a sea of flashing cameras and reporters holding microphones like weapons. Everyone was desperate to know who the woman Holden Blackwood had hidden away for all these years really was.
The assistant handed me a bouquet of roses—my favorite Bulgarian reds, their petals still jeweled with morning dew. They must have been flown in.
Amidst the buzzing anticipation, Holden finally made his entrance.
I watched from my seat as his eyes found mine across the room. A slow, intimate smile spread across his face. He held my gaze as he brought the microphone to his lips.
"The woman I'm about to introduce," he began, his voice echoing through the hall, "is the girl I fell in love with at first sight, back in high school."
Love at first sight? I blinked, confused.
The curtains behind him swept open. The roses were gently taken from my hands and passed to another woman.
"She was my first love, Sophia."

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