Donna worked faster than the FBI. Half an hour later, my phone buzzed.
A link. And her snark: [Presenting the performance of the year from our fake-sweetheart actress. Evidence chain so airtight I feel guilty charging you full price. Enjoy.]
I tapped it open. Abigail's public account.
Front and center: a close-up of her wrist flaunting the MK bracelet I knew by heart.
Caption: [The moon is coming to you, MR. K.]
My "Baby Moon."
My MK bracelet.
Now paraded around as someone else's prize.
Expressionless, I kept scrolling.
One shot—our study. Abigail cupping her face, smiling like butter wouldn't melt, with my rare Italian architecture books stacked in the background.
Caption: [Soaking up knowledge in MR. K's study, I feel like I'm improving too!]
Next—her holding a pen over a blueprint. Not just any pen—the limited-edition one I gave Matthew for his thirtieth.
Caption: [The pen MR. K gave me is amazing. He said my hands deserve the best.]
Then our favorite restaurant, table lined with my go-to dishes.
Caption: [Our secret spot. He said I'm the only one who makes him feel truly at ease.]
Each post cut deeper, turning memories into blades.
Then came the kicker—three days ago. Abigail, grinning with a printed draft.
Caption: [MR. K stayed up late helping me revise this. He said I'm the most inspired designer he's ever seen and that I'm sure to win the Horizon Spire project. Fighting!]
Horizon Spire.
Dreamforge's crown jewel. Six months of my life. My career's milestone.
I shot off the couch, grabbed my keys, and stormed out.
The office sat empty at this hour. I pressed my fingerprint to the lock and headed straight for Matthew's office.
His computer lit up with our wedding photo as the screensaver. His smile—soft, tender.
It made me sick.
I tapped a key. Password box popped up. My birthday? Wrong. Our anniversary? Wrong again.
I smirked and typed in Abigail's birthday.
[Welcome.]
The desktop was spotless, except for one folder screaming at me. Encrypted. I clicked. Inside—Dreamforge's Horizon Spire plan, finalized. Every line, every detail, six months of my team's blood and sweat.
Beside it sat another folder, marked with just two letters: AB.
I opened it.
The design was basically ours—just tweaked in a few key spots, enough to dodge patents but still scream Dreamforge.
At the bottom: one word. [Abigail.]
He hadn't just cheated. He was handing over my work—our future—like a stepping stool for his side chick.
Bile crawled up my throat. I gripped the cold desk, holding myself upright.
Turns out jealousy and betrayal can warp a guy till he's unrecognizable.
