I Love A Guy, But He's 15 Years Older

The day I got my admission letter from Royal Ballet School was the same day Ulysses d'Amboise brought his fiancée Ginger Collentine home.

The email on my phone screen glowed faintly.

I stared at the bright red admission sign for what felt like forever, my eyes stinging until tears threatened to fall.

This was my dream school—one of the world’s most prestigious stages for ballet. But right then, it just felt like the universe was mocking me.

I called Aunt Petunia. On the other end of the line, her joyful voice rang out. “Darcey! Have you made up your mind?”

“Yeah. I’ve decided to go to London.”

I didn’t want to see that man who hurt me over and over again anymore.

I just wanted this exhausting, messed-up, 15-year age gap nightmare to end.

But I never thought there’d come a day when he’d stand in front of me again, kneeling, begging me to take him back.

——

Eight years ago… It was a rainy night when my biological dad—drunk behind the wheel—crashed his car. That accident that took him and my biological mom away from me forever.

I was only 10 years old. I was lost about the world back then. I was lucky the d'Amboises took me in, this orphan with no one else to rely on.

They gave me a complete home.

At that time, Ulysses was already 15 years older than me. From the moment I moved in, he treated me like his own little sister.

He helped me with my studies, practiced dance routines with me, and shielded me from every piece of gossip that came my way.

Under his care, I slowly crawled out of the dark hole my parents’ deaths left behind. I found the courage to live again.

Looking back now, maybe it was then that a dangerous little seed was planted in my heart.

By the time I realized it, it had already taken root, growing so deep it was impossible to pull out.

I was 15.

It was New Year’s Eve when I confessed to him for the first time.

I really thought that if I just said it out loud, I’d get the answer I wanted from the man who had been taking care of me for five years.

But all he did was ruffle my hair and say, “Silly girl. You’re too young to know what this feeling is.”

It felt like my world shattered.

I didn’t believe him—there was no way he didn’t love me!

After that, I started confessing to him every chance I got—every special holiday.

At first, he’d patiently try to talk me out of it. Then, he just stopped saying much of anything.

And eventually, he started avoiding me altogether. He worked late, coming home later and later.

Then he started showing up at events with different women on his arm.

Until three months ago, when he brought Ginger home.

“This is Ginger, my fiancée,” he said, calm and matter-of-fact, in the foyer.

I stood frozen on the staircase, staring at the woman. She was beautiful in her Chanel suit.

She had her arm looped through him, a perfect little smile on her face.

“You must be Darcey,” she said, her tone warm but formal. “Lee talks about you all the time.”

At that moment, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and crushed my heart in their fist.

The pain spread, filling my body like a poison until I thought my knees might give out.

But I still managed to smile. “Welcome to the family, Ginger.”

After that day, I started pulling back from him. I stopped waiting for him at dinner. Stopped hovering near his study. Even when we did cross paths, our exchanges were brief and distant.

Just like tonight.

I heard the sound of keys turning in the lock—he was home.

I was halfway up the stairs when his voice stopped me. “Darcey.”

I froze but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“This weekend, Ginger and I are going villa hunting. You want to come along?”

My grip tightened on the staircase railing until my knuckles turned white. “No, I’ve got dance practice.”

“I see.” He paused. “Oh, by the way, Ginger and I have set a date—we’re getting married at the end of the year.”

Those words hit me like a hammer straight to the chest.