He Proposed to Me With Her Name

Dominic De Luca always called me by his ex-girlfriend's name. When he cooked, he would call out from the kitchen without thinking: "Bianca, come set the table." The birthday gifts he gave me came with cards that read: "Happy Birthday to my love, Bianca." At first, I used to get angry. I would hold his face, make him look me in the eye, and correct him over and over: "My name is Clara, not Bianca." Every time, he would apologize, and every time, I would forgive him. I left Boston to be with him. I gave up a promotion and moved to New York to start over, because Dominic said he could not handle a long-distance relationship. I thought that meant he had finally chosen me. Until the night he got down on one knee to propose. He looked up at me and said: "Bianca, will you marry me?" That was the moment I stopped wanting to correct him. I just took out my phone and replied to an email I had ignored for an entire month. I accepted the position in London. Dominic did not know yet. The moment he put my engagement ring on Bianca's finger, I had already decided to resign and leave New York. This time, I would not wait for him to explain. By the time he finally learned to say my name correctly, I would no longer love him. Chapter 1 Dominic De Luca's face went blank for a moment. He was kneeling on the terrace of the Long Island estate. Above him was the deep blue August sky, and across the Hudson, the lights of Manhattan stretched like a crack of light in the distance. He looked up at me, his lips parted, and it took him two full seconds to speak. "Clara… I…" The irony settled in. Even at a moment like this, he still had to think before he could say my name. I knew what he was about to say. He was nervous. It was a habit. After three years together, I had heard every version of that excuse. I stepped back and pulled my hand away from his reach. "There is nothing left to say. We are done." "No—" Dominic started, but behind him, the French doors opened. Guests from the dinner party drifted onto the terrace, drawn by the commotion. When they saw the scene, short gasps and hushed voices spread like a ripple across the lawn. "Oh my God, the De Luca heir is proposing at the family dinner." "Bianca? You and Dominic—why did you never tell us?" I turned my head. Bianca Russo stood a few feet away, backlit by the tall windows of the Long Island estate. Her cream silk dress caught the light. I was standing behind a trimmed yew bush, half-hidden. From where the guests stood, Dominic's kneeling figure was aimed directly at her. Bianca pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. Guests crowded around her, someone laughed and pushed her forward, someone called her name. An elderly woman in a navy suit brushed past me, her champagne glass tapping my elbow. Her voice dropped low: "Dear, you are blocking the photo." I stepped aside. My hem caught under someone's heel, my hair snagged on a strand of pearls. By the time I straightened up, Bianca had been swept to the center of the crowd. She stood beneath the crystal chandelier like a bride waiting for her moment. I stood at the edge like any passerby. Across the room, Dominic’s eyes found mine. For one second, I thought he would stand. I thought he would tell them they had misunderstood. His father was watching from the doorway. Three board members had already raised their glasses. Phones were pointed at him from every direction. Dominic’s jaw tightened. Then he turned back to Bianca and pushed the ring onto her finger. It slid into place.It fit perfectly. I turned and walked down the steps of the terrace garden, past the hedges and the gravel path. The lights of the estate grew distant behind me. I remembered the day I had accidentally seen Dominic's proposal plans. On his desk, a hand-drawn layout of the terrace, marked with the date: August twenty-eighth. A navy ring box sat at the corner of the desk, the lid closed. I thought it was for me. I thought he had spent three months planning this for me. I had imagined the scene. He would kneel in front of me, and a boat would pass on the Hudson. The Manhattan skyline would be lighting up behind him. He might be nervous, he might stumble over his words, his hands might shake when he put the ring on my finger. But I would say yes anyway. I would fall into his arms, press my face against his coat, and listen to his heartbeat. That picture was gone now. I stood at the gate of the Long Island estate and flagged down a taxi. The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror. "Where to?" I gave him my Manhattan address. I checked my phone. No missed calls. No messages. Dominic probably had not noticed I had left. Or maybe he had, and he assumed I was just upset, like before, that I would stay at a hotel for a day or two and come back on my own. He was wrong. I opened my email and scrolled to the message I had left unread for over a month. It was from a company in London. The position was two levels above my current one, and the salary was double. I had not replied because I was not sure I could really leave. Now I was. I typed my response, told them I had given it careful thought and accepted the offer, and that I could start in two days. Then I hit send. Chapter 2 I was about to put my phone away when another message came through from Dominic. "Clara, let us just go with it for now. Bianca already said yes in front of everyone. I am the family heir, and backing out now would make De Luca look bad. It would damage Bianca's reputation too. Later I will tell them it was all a misunderstanding, that I always meant to propose to you." I read the lines several times. It did not surprise me. The moment Dominic called out the wrong name, I knew exactly how this would go. It was the same as last Christmas, when he sent a scarf to my apartment but it ended up at Bianca's address by mistake. When I tried to get it back, he held my hand and said: "Sorry, Clara, I must have filled in the wrong address. Just let her keep it. She has already opened it." A message came through from the estate manager: "Mr. De Luca asked me to let you know that the reception after the dinner will be held in the main hall. The main course has been changed to lobster pasta with white truffle. The chef has confirmed the ingredients. We look forward to seeing you there." It was part of the proposal plan. Since he had proposed to the wrong person, everything would go to Bianca instead. That was how Dominic always handled things. I saw a guest's Instagram post of the dinner table. White linen, silver candlesticks, floral arrangements. The main course was lobster pasta with white truffle. I was allergic to truffle. Dominic never remembered. But it was Bianca's favorite. I went back to my Manhattan apartment alone. I pushed the door open. On the console table by the entrance sat a small record player and a record sleeve beside it. It was from our first date, a jazz show he had taken me to. He had bought a signed copy later and placed it here. He said the first record you play in a new place gives it a voice. Dominic had never cared much for rituals. I was the one who taught him. I remembered the day I put that record on the console table. He leaned against the doorframe and said, "It is just a record. Does it matter where it goes?" I turned and shook my head. "It matters. I want everyone who walks in to see it first and know this is a home." That was the first time he did not argue with me. I thought that meant he was beginning to believe me. I picked up the record sleeve and ran my finger along the crease on the cover. Images from the dinner flashed through my mind. In every photo, he stood next to Bianca, relaxed, his mouth slightly lifted in a smile I had not seen on his face in a long time. I realized I had been the only one who thought we were happy. I turned the sleeve over and put it in a box with the record. My phone buzzed once. Bianca had put up a story. A photo from the dinner, with one line: "Some things are decided for you." She did not name anyone. She did not need to. I closed my phone and booked a flight. The morning flights were full. The only one left was the earliest flight the day after tomorrow. Six forty in the morning. Arriving in London that night. I confirmed the booking. [Booking confirmed. There were thirty-four hours left before takeoff.] Chapter 3 The door opened. Dominic stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath. When he saw me, his shoulders dropped. But then his brow furrowed, and his voice carried a mix of relief and reproach. "Where did you go? I have been looking for you for almost two hours." I did not answer. If he had really been in a hurry, he would have come after me the moment he said the wrong name, not after dinner, not after the photos, not after the guests had gone. He stepped inside and saw the suitcase and boxes by my feet. His face changed. "Where are you going at this hour?" I looked at him. My voice was flat. "I am moving out. The rest will be picked up tomorrow." Dominic sighed first, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the navy ring box. He opened it. The ring lay inside, as if it had never been worn. "Alright," he said. "I made a mistake. I was nervous. You know I have never done this before. Take the ring. I will clear it up tomorrow. I have already talked to Bianca. She will not make things difficult for you. " "If you do not want to wear the one she tried on, I will have a new one made. A better diamond. Whatever setting you want." He said all of this while finally looking me in the eye. His tone had the certainty of someone who had already made a concession. He held the box out, waiting for me to take it. I looked at the ring. "Dominic, you want to get me a new ring with a better diamond. Do you think that is what I am upset about?" He paused, like the question had derailed the response he had prepared. "Then what are you upset about?" He sounded genuinely confused. I gave a small, quiet laugh. "I am serious about ending this. The ring is yours. Give it to her, sell it, throw it away. I do not care." Dominic closed the box. His face shifted, and the patience on it hardened into something I had seen many times before. "Clara, I said I would get you a new one. If you do not like the stone, we can change it. If you do not like the setting, we can change that too. But you do this every time. You make a scene over something small and threaten to leave. Why can you not be more understanding?" The way he said "every time" made my skin cold. I remembered something from a year ago. After the annual report came out, I found out I had been moved to a lower-priority team. The core client I had been handling was given to Bianca. I went to Dominic, and he did not look up from his phone. "She needs to prove herself. You are capable. One client will not make a difference." "That client took me eight months to land." "You can find another one. I will keep an eye out for you next quarter." His tone was like he was calming a child. I stood there and could not find any words. He said "next quarter." He thought everything could be postponed. That time, we broke up. I stayed in a hotel for three days, and he did not send a single message. Later I understood that he counted on me loving him too much. He knew I would always come back. Just like when he said, "I do not want a long-distance relationship," and I quit my job in Boston and moved to New York. When I came back that time, he took my suitcase and said: "When I take over the family, you will be the Donna standing beside me. There will be more pressure than this. Clara, if you keep acting like this, how can I trust you with the De Luca name?" Now Dominic stood in front of me with the same voice. "You have had your say. I will get the ring remade," he said, looking at me like he had already given enough. "I have the family, the business, the company. I have pressure too. Can you not try to understand me and just let this go?" I looked at his face and realized he had never truly understood me. "I am serious about this, Dominic. I do not want a new ring. I do not want anything." As the elevator doors closed, his voice came through the gap: "It is cold out. Do not stay out too long. Come back when you are ready. I will be here." The elevator went down, floor by floor. My phone lit up. Bianca had posted another story. A photo of her hand holding a champagne glass, the ring catching the light. I liked the story, got into the taxi, and gave the driver the name of a hotel. Chapter 4 The next morning, Dominic and Bianca came into the office together. The open floor plan buzzed with murmurs of congratulations. I kept my eyes on the screen, sorting through my handover documents. In three years in New York, I had closed deals worth over a hundred million dollars in sales. Since I had already decided to leave, I needed to file all the client records I had managed. HR Vivian came to my desk with a file in her hand. Her expression was hesitant. "Clara, do you have time this afternoon? I want to talk to you about the headcount for the department promotion." I looked up. "Promotion?" "The promotion list for your department has been submitted. Mr. De Luca said the main contributor to that project was Bianca Russo. He requested that she be promoted early to supervisor. But I remember most of the work on that project was yours. I wanted to confirm." Supervisor was my current position. He was giving my work, my effort, to Bianca. I was quiet for a moment. "Vivian, I will send the full project record to the company. All the emails, the signing process, the client correspondence. Everything is archived." My phone buzzed. A message from Dominic: "Bianca just started. Turning down her promotion in front of everyone would be humiliating. Give her this one. I already have your next move lined up. You will be CEO next month. Trust me, I am not forgetting about you. This company answers to me." I did not reply. I opened the internal system and filed a formal project ownership appeal, attaching the complete records from the project's start to the signed contracts. Within half a day, the appeal was approved, and Bianca's promotion was rejected. When the notification appeared on my screen, I leaned back in my chair and let out a long breath. Another message from Dominic came through: "If you are done being upset, come home tonight. I made a reservation at that restaurant you like." That afternoon, when I walked out of the meeting room, the atmosphere in the office had changed. People looked away when they passed me. A few voices drifted from the kitchen area: "That is her?" "She did not seem like that kind of person." I went back to my desk and opened my phone. The company's internal chat had been flooded with messages from Bianca. "A certain Ms. Hayes has been harassing my fiancé for a long time. After being rejected, she maliciously reported my promotion application. When will the company deal with this kind of behavior?" People started guessing. They added screenshots of conversations, edited and cropped. Dominic and I had never made our relationship public. The gossip had been going on for almost an hour, and Dominic had not denied any of it. The screenshots were taken from his phone. A commotion broke out at the office entrance. Bianca walked in with a cup of hot coffee and came straight to my desk. She tilted her hand, and the coffee spilled across my keyboard, my papers, my hand. I stood up quickly as the liquid dripped off the edge of the desk onto my skirt. The whole office went quiet. Everyone was watching. "You took my promotion, and you are still chasing my fiancé," Bianca said, loud enough for the nearby desks to hear. "What else are you capable of?" I looked down at my hand, already turning red. I looked up and saw Dominic standing two steps behind Bianca. I looked at him. "Are you going to explain?" He paused for a moment. Then he said, "What Bianca said is true. Please stop contacting us." The murmurs grew louder. Bianca stood beside him and gave me a smile that only I could see. Dominic leaned in and lowered his voice. "You took her promotion. She is angry. Let her vent. I will make it up to you later. I already told you, CEO is yours next month. That is enough, is it not?" That phrase, "I will make it up to you later," felt like a wet cloth over my mouth. I opened my phone to find our chat history, but it was empty. My photo album was empty too. The only person who knew my password and could access my phone was Dominic. He had cleared everything to let her have her way. I sat at my coffee-soaked desk, picked up my mouse, and opened the resignation page. I changed the effective date to today. Submitted. Then I opened the airline app and changed my flight from tomorrow morning to tonight. Departure at nine forty. Five hours left before boarding. I stood up and turned off my computer.