Page 117 of The Substitute Fiancée

“Alexander! I was just about to call you,” he says warmly. “Congratulations on the IPO. The numbers are impressive. You must be incredibly proud!”

I don’t answer. The words lodge in my throat, blocked by a knot I can’t swallow.

The silence stretches.

“Alexander?” he asks, his tone changing instantly. “What’s going on?”

“I… I screwed up.”

My voice breaks on the last word. I have to try twice before I can go on.

“I… I accused Sam of cheating on me. Damn it, Oliver… I ruined everything.”

“Don’t move. I’m calling Marion and I’m on my way. Do you hear me? Fifteen minutes and I’ll be there. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He hangs up before I can respond.

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rings. When I open the door, Oliver studies me with that sharp, assessing look, the one of an older brother who knows a disaster when he sees one. He doesn’t say a word, just pulls me into a protective embrace.

I cling to that moment, to that presence that reminds me I’m not alone in this wreckage.

“Tell me,” he says simply once we’re seated in the living room, a glass in hand.

So I tell him everything. The words spill out in no particular order, broken by silences and labored breaths. The exhaustion and stress that have piled up over the past few weeks. The phone calls I didn’t answer when Sam needed me. The promise to make it up to her. My lack of availability.

I tell him about Sam’s destroyed works, about her going back to school, about the looming IPO, about the distance that crept in between us. The messages growing shorter, farther apart. My mounting frustration turning into resentment. This gnawing feeling of being abandoned when I needed her most.

And then the package that arrived too late. The gift I discovered only afterward. The misunderstandings. My explosion of jealousy outside her school, in front of everyone. My venomous accusations. The breakup.

The truth that came too late. Sam’s departure.

When I finish, Oliver stays silent for a long time. He swirls his glass in his hands, his gaze lost in the amber of the whiskey.

“Fuck,” he finally says. “When you screw up, you really go all in.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. Oliver doesn’t flinch.

“Sam isn’t Kristel,” he says calmly. “But your ex’s betrayal left raw wounds, whether you admit it or not. You never took the time to process that. Circumstances brought you and Sam together, but you moved too fast. You built something on foundations that weren’t solid yet.”

I want to protest, but he raises a hand.

“I hear what you’re saying about fatigue, about stress. I get it. But Alexander… that’s not an excuse. Yes, over time, those things can dehumanize you. They can turn you into someone you no longer recognize. But no matter what, the one thing you must protect above all else—and even from yourself—is the person you love.”

He looks straight at me, and in his eyes I see something I’ve never seen there before: disappointment.

“You have a bad day? You never take it out on the other person. Never. The harder things get, the more the other person should become your refuge. And the reverse is true. If that’s not the case, then your relationship isn’t worth living. It’s that simple.”

His words cut straight through me. Because he’s right. Because I did the exact opposite. I turned Sam into the scapegoat for my frustrations.

“I lost her,” I whisper.

“That’s possible,” Oliver agrees bluntly. “But more than that, you lost yourself. The real question isn’t whether Sam will forgive you. The real question is: are you ready to become the man who deserves her forgiveness?”

I stare at him, lost.

“You need to find a way to offer the best version of yourself, Alexander. The one who communicates instead of assuming. The one who gives trust before suspicion. The one who listens before condemning. The one who, when he’s afraid, says ‘I’m afraid’ instead of attacking.”