The Billionaires Protege

Chapter two: Cracks in crystal

I should’ve seen the signs. They weren’t even subtle.

At first, I thought it was just stress. Midterms, football, the pressure of being perfect, Gerard had a lot on his plate. So when he started canceling on me, showing up late, or barely texting back, I convinced myself it wasn’t personal.

But it always felt personal.

We used to talk for hours. Now I stared at his “seen” notifications like they owed me an explanation. The silence was starting to scream louder than anything he ever said to me. And still, I made excuses. I told myself he loved me the way he used to that maybe he just didn’t know how to show it anymore.

I missed the version of him who used to hold my face like it was a secret. Now he barely looked at me when we were together.

The last time I visited his apartment, he didn’t even bother to pause the game on his screen. I sat beside him, clutching a small paper bag filled with his favorite chocolate croissants from a little café near campus. He didn’t notice them. Didn’t kiss me. Didn’t ask how my day went.

I don’t know why that night broke something in me, but it did.

"You barely talk to me anymore," I finally whispered. "Is something wrong?"

He gave me a side glance. “What do you want me to say, Lucille? I’m tired. I’ve got practice at six.”

I just stared at him. “You didn’t even ask how I was.”

He didn't pause the game, didn't look at me, but he replied

"A guy can't even play his games in peace now?, give it a rest Lucille."

His fingers clicked the controller, his jaw tight. The silence between us grew thick and oily, like it could drip off the walls.

That night, I cried in the cab on the way home, careful not to let the driver see.

I couldn’t tell my mother. She loved Gerard or more accurately, the idea of him. The rich, gorgeous boy who took an interest in her daughter. The one who’d met her with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet in the other, called her ma’am with a smile that lit her face up like Christmas.

She would’ve told me to be patient. Those relationships take work. That boys like Gerard don’t come around twice.

So I kept it all to myself.

Every missed call, every weekend he told me he was too tired to see me, every brush-off text that made my chest tighten I buried it deep. I kept pretending. Even when the girls at school started whispering again.

“She’s still trying to make that work?” I overheard one of them laugh outside the library. “You’d think she’d be smart enough to know he’s already moved on.”

I walked faster. I didn’t want to cry in public. Again.

When we did see each other, it was like he was playing a role. He touched me when others were around, leaned in just enough to convince the world he still wanted me. But in private? There was no warmth. No gentleness. Sometimes, not even s*x. Just empty, distracted kisses and cold goodbyes.

But I clung to the few moments that felt like before.

Like when he left a perfume sample in my purse one afternoon, the same brand he’d once told me reminded him of me. Or when he sent me a photo of us at that gala weeks ago, he captioned: “You looked good that night.”

They were crumbs. I know that now. But back then, I convinced myself they were proof.

I remember asking him once, over the phone, “Are we okay?”

His sigh was long, like I’d asked something exhausting. “You always need something, Lucille.”

That stung more than I let on.

I swallowed my pride and said, “I just miss you. That’s all.”

He didn’t say he missed me back.

The last week before his birthday, I tried again. I asked if I could see him, help him plan the party, spend some time just us. He said he was busy. Again.

“It’s not a big deal,” he added. “You can just show up to the party like everyone else.”

That hit me hard. Like everyone else.....

I used to be the one he couldn’t go a day without seeing. The one he’d cancel everything for. Now I was just a guest on the list.

I was like he had put it.

"Like everyone else"...

That Friday night, I sat alone in my room, watching the lights from the city blink through the window, wondering if maybe I was going crazy. Maybe I’d over-romanticized what we had. Maybe he never really cared the way I thought he did.

But no matter how I tried to talk myself down, my heart still ached for him. The version of him I fell for. The boy who used to kiss my wrist before he kissed my lips. The one who introduced me to caviar and rooftop dinners and whispered secrets in the backseat of sleek black cars.

I loved that boy. I loved him even as he turned into someone else right in front of me.

When the invite to his birthday came, I stared at it for a long time. Part of me didn’t want to go. But I had to. If only to prove to myself, to everyone that we were still something. That I was still wanted.

I chose my outfit carefully. A fitted midnight blue dress that hugged me like a second skin, heels that made my legs look longer, hair curled to perfection. I looked like someone who belonged at his side.

But deep down, I was scared.

I knew things had changed. I just didn’t know how far they’d gone.

I didn’t know that night would be the one to shatter everything.