“Are you seriously going to keep making a fuss like this?” Crizza snapped.
I looked her straight in the eyes and replied calmly, “Yes.”
Crizza let out a bitter laugh, fuming with anger.
Nodding her head, she didn't say another word, nor tell me where the documents were, and turned on her heel—slamming the door behind her so hard the whole wall seemed to shake.
With no other choice, I turned to her executive assistant.
But even the assistant had no idea where she had left my materials, so I had to go back empty-handed.
...
The next morning, just after I woke up, I saw an update from Crizza on Instagram story—a full nine photo collage.
The woman who once claimed she'd never appear in another man's social media had posted herself, wearing a sleek black hiking jacket, holding a trekking pole—and smiling sweetly as Spencer wrapped his arm around her waist. She lifted one foot and flashed a playful peace sign toward the camera.
The caption read: [Ship us already. We're insanely sweet.]
Spencer posted the exact same photo set too.
One picture showed her leaning into his chest as they posed.
[Her foot is still injured, so I carried her up the Mountain Everest. I won’t say who’ll die from the sweetness—but my heart’s already melting.]
“What the hell is wrong with this woman?!”
My friend Lewis exploded while holding my phone.
On his phone, there were no such posts—same with everyone else we asked.
It was clear. Their posts were set to be visible to me only.
It was a deliberate provocation, and probably even Crizza's idea.
“This woman's insane! Five years ago she promised you she'd climb the Grand Canyon with you, but kept saying she was too busy with work!"
“And now, look at that! One night is all it takes to climb it with that pretty boy? Suddenly she's full of energy?”
Lewis was pacing furiously around the room.
I couldn't help but smile bitterly.
Five years ago, before the company grew, I once stopped at a roadside fortune-teller who said, “If you and Crizza climb Grand Canyon together, your love will last a lifetime.”
She agreed immediately.
But every time we tried, something got in the way—client meetings, exhaustion, excuses. The trip was canceled again and again.
Then, three years ago, on the day our company went public, she had me slide a Harry Winston ring onto her finger in front of everyone.
She looked at me and said, “See, Dalton? Nothing can truly come between us. You and me—forever. It has nothing to do with what we do or where we go.”
I was so moved, I teared up.
But three years passed, and the company got even busier. More clients than ever.
And somehow, she still found the time to climb Grand Canyon in one night—with Spencer.
“Dalton! I can't take this anymore! Are you going to do something or not?! If you don't, I'll go find that shameless couple myself!”
“No need,” I said coldly. “I'm already doing something.”
Lewis looked at me, intrigued.
I handed him my phone.
He glanced at the group chat I had created—then gasped in shock.
“All the key tech leads... they're leaving with you?! Is this for real?!”
He scrolled up through the chat. One after another, the engineers had submitted resignation letters to HR.
“Well done, Dalton.” Lewis clapped me hard on the shoulder.
“If it weren't for you leading those tech experts and building the product from scratch, do you really think Crizza could've secured any investment?
“Brilliant move—cutting off her lifeline. Let's see how Spencer handles product development now!”
When the news of the mass resignation broke, Crizza immediately called for a meeting.
“Why are you all leaving?” she asked, trying to stay calm. “If it's about money, just tell me—I'll raise your salaries.
“If it's the environment, I'll get you better offices.”
Over a dozen key tech staff sat around the conference table, exchanging glances.
Finally, the eldest among them let out a sigh and spoke first:
“Ms. Snyder, it's not about any of that. The truth is—Manager Silva is leaving, and we're going with him.”
Crizza's expression darkened.
“What did he offer you?” she demanded icily.
