Replaced by the Original

The manila envelope arrived on my desk at precisely 9:17 AM, delivered by a courier whose face I didn't bother to remember. No return address, just my name typed on the front in sans-serif font that screamed of anonymity.

"Another secret admirer?" Victoria asked, her voice dripping with the sarcasm we both knew wasn't entirely unwelcome.

I set down my Mont Blanc pen and picked up the envelope, feeling its weight. Something solid inside. Something that would no doubt disrupt my carefully constructed day.

"Open it," I said, already turning back to the quarterly reports that needed my attention.

Victoria's sharp nails sliced through the paper. "Photos," she announced, her tone shifting from boredom to something sharper. "You might want to see these."

I looked up, and the first image hit me like a physical blow.

Nathan—my Nathan—standing at the Tiffany & Co. counter, pointing excitedly at something in the display case. His smile was radiant, the kind of smile I'd convinced myself was reserved only for me.

The next photo showed him handing over my black card—the one with no limit, the one I'd given him "for emergencies"—to the saleswoman who was wrapping a small blue box.

My fingers tightened around the edge of my desk.

"And there's more," Victoria said quietly, sliding another photo across the polished surface.

This one was different. A crowd of young people, their faces flushed with alcohol and excitement, surrounding Nathan as he knelt before a girl with blonde hair cascading down her back. Scarlett Foster—I recognized her from the university's website. The campus beauty queen.

The ring on her finger caught the light, sparkling obscenely.

"Is that—" Victoria began.

"Fifty thousand dollars," I finished for her, my voice surprisingly steady despite the ice spreading through my chest. "The ring cost exactly fifty thousand dollars."

I stood up, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I walked to the window. Below, the city sprawled out in a maze of glass and steel, oblivious to the betrayal unfolding thirty floors above.

"Genevieve?" Victoria's voice was gentle now. "What do you want to do?"

I turned back to her, and to the photos that now seemed to mock me from my desk.

"Call him. Tell him to be in the boardroom in twenty minutes."

---

The glass walls of the boardroom offered no privacy, but I wanted witnesses. I wanted everyone to see this moment—though they would never know its true significance.

Nathan arrived precisely on time, his youthful face bright with the kind of optimism that comes from never having truly suffered consequences.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, dropping into the chair across from me with casual familiarity.

I slid the photos across the table without a word.

His expression changed as he recognized himself in the images—confusion, then shock, then something that might have been guilt if I still believed in such things.

"Where did you get these?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly.

"That doesn't matter," I replied, my