The CEO's Toxic Placeholder

I froze just outside the private room, a cold chill creeping up my spine as I overheard the voices drifting through the crack in the door.

“Henry, now that Vivienne’s back from Paris, what’s your plan with Eleanor?”

Henry’s voice was smooth, practiced—a perfect Wall Street mask. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, man. You and Eleanor have been together for three years. Vivienne’s back in the city. That changes things, doesn’t it?”

I peeked through the gap, watching Henry. He took a long drag from his vape, the cloud of smoke swirling in the low light. He exhaled slowly before answering, quieter this time. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt Eleanor, but Vivienne... that’s complicated.”

A laugh rumbled from one of his friends. “Vivienne was your college sweetheart. You guys were legendary. Everyone at Yale still talks about it. No one’s judging you for not being over her.”

“Look,” another voice interjected, “Eleanor’s been ride-or-die for three years, and she’s gorgeous. You’re telling me you’re still hung up on Vivienne?”

Henry rubbed his temples, his voice tired, weighed down by too many late nights. “Yeah, Eleanor’s beautiful. But when I first asked her out... it was because she reminded me of Vivienne. The whole time, I’ve been chasing her ghost.”

There was a pause, thick with disbelief. “So Eleanor’s just been a placeholder?”

A knot twisted in my stomach.

“When are you going to end it?” someone asked.

Henry’s vape clicked against the table, and I could see the light pulse from his fingers. “Not sure. Eleanor gets me. She understands the crazy hours. She never complains. Letting that go... isn’t easy.”

One of his friends clapped him on the shoulder. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too, man. Time to make a call.”

“Or just keep both,” someone laughed.

Henry scoffed. “Not all of us can juggle multiple dating apps like you, jackass.”

My fingers curled around the doorframe as I turned and walked away, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Each step felt heavier than the last.

I couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t bother looking at my phone until I was outside, the cold night air rushing over me. The twinkling lights of Manhattan felt so distant, like I was standing on the edge of a world that didn’t recognize me.

Three years. I thought what we had was real. But now I saw it. I had been his practice, his second choice, his safe space until Vivienne came back.

I paused, standing on the High Line, the wind biting at my face. It was the same view I’d come to love in my time here, yet tonight it felt alien. The city stretched endlessly before me, lights blurring into the horizon. And I realized I had a choice to make.

A tear slid down my cheek, the cold wind stinging my skin as it pulled me back into reality. It was time to stop pretending.

I pulled out my phone, dialed the number I’d been avoiding, and hit FaceTime.

“Papa?” My voice cracked just slightly. “About the arrangement with the Blackwood family in London... I’ll do it.”

The city lights painted the skyline in soft hues of gold. I held my phone to my ear, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just done with the dating scene. Time to be practical.”

He listened in silence before replying, “You were right all along. I shouldn’t have fought you on this. I get it now.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see. “I’ll head back to London once I’ve wrapped things up here.”

By the time I made it back to our penthouse, it was past ten. Mabel, our housekeeper, greeted me at the door with a warm smile, though her eyes held concern.

“Miss Winters, welcome back. I kept the bone broth warm for Mr. Ashcroft. His stomach’s been acting up again. I was about to take it up, but since you’re here—”

“Thanks, Mabel,” I murmured, taking the pot without another word.

I headed for the master suite, setting the broth on the bedside table. The room was empty, though his laptop glowed, the soft light flickering in the stillness. The shower ran behind the closed bathroom door, steam curling beneath the crack.

Showering? At this hour?

I didn’t question it.

I glanced at his laptop screen and froze. A string of notifications from Vivienne, sent minutes ago.

[Henry, landed at JFK! Having dinner with the Paris team, but free after 11:30. Drinks at our old spot??]

I felt something cold tighten in my chest. I knew that “old spot” well. It was their place.

[These years in Paris... I’ve missed you every day. I focused too much on my career. Should’ve never let you go.]

[We were both stubborn back then. But you still think about us too, right?]

[Tried dating other guys in Paris, but it never felt right. Finally admitted to myself it’s because they weren’t you.]

[Been putting off this transfer to NYC for ages. Scared you’d hate me, scared you had someone serious, maybe even moved on.]

[Henry... I messed up back then. Any chance you can forgive me?]

My heart squeezed. I was about to close the chat, but then I saw Henry’s reply.

[Just need to know one thing, Si: do you still feel it?]

Classic Henry. Texting while in the shower. Always a meeting, always too busy for me, yet here he was, replying like he had all the time in the world for her.

I held my breath. The difference between love and convenience had never been clearer.

Vivienne’s reply came immediately.

[Always have, always will. Only you.]

[See you soon?]

The final blow.

I closed the chat, wiped the screen clean, and reset the mouse. I needed to stay busy.

In the kitchen, I poured myself a bowl of broth, the one I’d made for him. It was my attempt at fixing him, like it always had been.

I finished the broth and heard Henry come down the stairs, freshly showered, looking put together in the dark blazer I’d given him for Christmas.

He glanced up. “Where were you earlier? Didn’t see you when I got back.”

“Just needed some air,” I said, my voice soft.

He grabbed his keys. “Got to handle something at the office. Don’t wait up.”

I stared into my empty bowl. “Will you be back tonight?”

Henry hesitated, then shook his head. “Might crash at the office if this deal runs late.”

“Got it,” I whispered.

And that was it. The girl who never made waves. The one who always understood.

Later that night, his side of the bed was still empty. It felt too quiet.

The next morning, my phone jolted me awake.

“Hello?”

“Eleanor! You’re coming to my birthday thing tomorrow night, right? Reservation’s at eight!”

I squinted at the screen, still half asleep. It was Seraphina Rothschild, one of Henry’s old colleagues. She was kind to me, always had been.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Text me the details?”

I hung up and headed out, looking for a gift.

The next evening, I arrived at the restaurant early. The place was busy, buzzing with voices. I found Seraphina and handed her the gift.

“Happy birthday, C,” I said with a smile.

Seraphina beamed, taking it from me.

We were in the middle of a conversation when I saw him—Henry. He walked in, fashionably late, with a woman I didn’t recognize at his side.

When our eyes met, he stiffened.

“Eleanor? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice sharp with surprise.