The Girl He Called Practice

I turned down a full scholarship to Stanford to follow my boyfriend of ten years to Columbia.

I thought my sacrifice was an act of love, until I heard him laughing with his best friend in the kitchen.

He was speaking French, confident that his "simple" girlfriend couldn't understand a word.

"Elle était juste une pratique," he sneered. "She was just practice. A training session. That' s all."

My blood ran cold.

He went on to explain that I was just a "safety net" to keep his bed warm while he pursued his real target, a famous model named Bella.

He claimed I was pathetic, loyal, and would never leave him.

The irony?

I had spent years secretly mastering French to impress his grandmother.

I understood every single insult.

I didn't confront him.

I didn't make a scene.

I simply walked into the bedroom, withdrew my application from Columbia, and accepted the offer from Stanford.

By the time he realized his "safety net" was gone, I was already across the country, and he was blocked on everything.

Chapter 1

Kiera Case POV:

The scent of him, musk and a hint of expensive cologne, still clung to my skin, a cruel reminder of the promises whispered just hours ago. He'd vowed a future, a life woven together, and I, fool that 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. Felix and Dion. His best friend, his confidant. My stomach clenched. I should have been asleep, nestled against him, but a lingering restlessness had kept me awake, heading to the kitchen for water.

Then I heard it. Not just their voices, but the clipped, rapid fire of French. My blood ran cold, a familiar dread coiling in my gut. Felix rarely spoke French when I was around. It was his private language, 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 his formidable grandmother, Madame Decker, who only communicated in her native tongue. It had been my quiet homage to his world, a silent declaration of my commitment. He didn't know I understood. He couldn't.

"Elle était juste une pratique, mon ami. Une séance d'entraînement. C'est tout."

His words, crystal clear, hit me like a physical blow. He said, "She was just practice, my friend. A training session. That's all." Every atom in my body screamed, froze, shattered. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp. The glass I held trembled, threatening to fall. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, each beat of my heart a painful, deafening drum against my ribs.

Dion chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Et maintenant, la vraie cible?"

"Oui. Bella Ramsey. Elle est le prix. Kiera… Kiera est bonne pour garder le