"Where are the sketches, Hugo?" I slammed the empty leather portfolio onto the glass dining table.
Hugo Gallagher didn't even flinch. He kept his eyes fixed on his phone screen, typing a rapid message. "Keep your voice down, Renee. I'm working."
"My entire unreleased makeup line is gone. Five years of research on that flagship foundation formula. Gone."
He finally slid the device into his suit pocket. He pushed his chair back, putting several feet of distance between us. He hadn't shared a meal at this table with me in six months. Whenever I cooked, he took his plate to the living room. If I walked into the living room, he moved to the patio.
"You always make a massive fuss over nothing," Hugo muttered. "It's just some paper."
"It's my life's work! It's the only asset I had left after I emptied my bank accounts to build your company three years ago!" I pointed a shaking finger at the hallway. "I pay every bill in this house. I scrub the floors. I do your laundry. And now my private studio is ransacked?"
"Stop playing the victim. I'm tired of hearing you whine."
"I'm whining? Someone broke into my safe, Hugo. Only you and I know the combination."
"I didn't touch your stupid safe."
"Then who did? Did you give the code to Cindy?" The name tasted bitter on my tongue.
Hugo scoffed, adjusting his expensive tie—a tie I had bought for his birthday. "Cindy has her own projects. She doesn't need your outdated ideas."
"Outdated? That formula is revolutionary. It's the only reason I haven't filed for bankruptcy."
"You're hysterical."
"I want my property back
