My Replacement Is Me

I brewed Draco Goodwin a cup of tea at eighty degrees Celsius. This was his favorite temperature. But he just glanced at it, then furrowed his brows. "It's too hot. Bring it to me once it cools down to seventy degrees." I was momentarily stunned; he said the same thing yesterday. Yet yesterday, I clearly measured the tea with a thermometer—it was exactly eighty degrees. I said nothing and quietly took the teacup away. As I turned, I heard him mutter, "Why she even can't handle this little thing?" My heart sank slightly. This is already the seventeenth time this month. Last week, I designed a light gray suit for him—a piece I had spent six months perfecting—but he didn't even try it on and just threw it into the trash. "Light gray is too dull, not bright enough." He didn't even look at me when he said that. Yesterday was his birthday; I sang him a birthday song, but he complained I was off-key. "That was painful to listen to." That sentence pierced my heart like a needle. But I still held back. Until this morning. The assistant cautiously told me that the female lead of the new drama had been changed, replaced by Sandy Black, that pure young star with a ballet background. The hand holding my teacup clenched tighter. "Ms. Leslie, please don't be angry." The assistant's voice was gentle, "Mr. Goodwin might have just acted on impulse. Among the women around him, besides you, who's ever lasted long?" She was afraid I'd lose my temper. Two years ago, a popular young star in the crew snapped at me with a few words; I slapped her in front of everyone, almost causing a fight. But this time, I just shook my head. Actually, I had a feeling all along. Ever since he replaced the red roses at home with lilies. Draco knew that red roses were my favorite. Over the years, women came and went around him, but the bedroom always had only red roses. That made me believe I was special to him. Now it seems I was just fooling myself. The lounge door opened, and Sandy walked in wearing her costume. She saw me but didn't seem to want to leave; instead, she lazily flopped onto the sofa. "You're here too," she said. She smiled warmly at me, "I'm exhausted, and all the other lounges are full. Mind if I rest here for a while, Ms. Leslie?" I didn't say a word. Her assistant spoke up first, "Sandy, you don't know yet?" "Mr. Goodwin already gave you this lounge." "It's someone else just muscled in, not respecting their place." My assistant shot me a sidelong glance: "If it were me, and someone stole my stuff, I'd definitely slap her." Sandy smiled, "Ms. Leslie, she speaks bluntly. Don't take it personally." I smiled too. I grabbed my trembling assistant's arm and turned to leave. Give her the lounge. As I turned around, I saw the emerald bracelet on Sandy's fair wrist—the one Draco had won at last month's auction. He told the media at the time that it was an engagement gift for his future wife. So that's how it is. The Goodwin family and the Black family are going to be joined in marriage. A moment before the door closed, I heard Sandy on the phone, her voice soft and coquettish. "Iris is hosting a welcome-home party tonight. My brother is the host." "He said you absolutely have to come." "But if you get caught up in another scandal, just wait and see what I'll do to you." Draco's laughter came through the phone, gentle yet piercing. "Got it. Who would dare upset our princess?" "I told you, before we get married, all those shady women will be settled." "Wait for me to marry you." The door closed. The last thing I saw was Sandy's face, flushed with pride and shyness. Just then, my phone vibrated—a message from Draco Goodwin. "I've got something tonight; go see your mother by yourself." "Don't come back home afterward. Stay out." "I'll cover the hotel expenses." I stared at the screen, a dull ache pressing in my chest. But strangely, after the pain, it somehow didn't hurt as much anymore.