Chapter 2

Marcus was alarmingly efficient. Barely half an hour later, my phone vibrated.

A link, accompanied by a message: "Your award-winning master manipulator, brought to you by yours truly. The evidence is so airtight, I almost feel bad charging you full price. Enjoy the show."

I clicked it open. It was Leo's social media account, set to public.

The latest post was a close-up of a wrist, adorned with that all-too-familiar 'C' bracelet. The caption read: "My Moonbeam comes for you, Ms. C."

My pet name, "little Moonbeam," my 'C' bracelet—now both trophies for another man.

I scrolled down expressionlessly.

One photo showed our home library in the background. Leo was holding his face, smiling with a faux innocence, behind him the rare architecture books I'd brought back from Italy. The caption: "Soaking up wisdom in Ms. C's study. Feeling myself getting smarter already!"

Another photo, he was holding a fountain pen, sketching on a drawing. It was a limited-edition collaboration piece I'd given Camilla for her thirtieth birthday. Caption: "Ms. C's pen is amazing to write with. She said my hands deserve the best."

And one more, at that private restaurant we always frequented, featuring my go-to dishes. Caption: "My secret hideaway with Ms. C. She says I'm the only one who truly makes her relax."

Every photo, every word, was like a precise scalpel, carving into my most vulnerable memories, one incision at a time.

Until I scrolled to a post from three days ago.

In the photo, Leo was holding a printed design draft, a look of triumph on his face.

The caption: "Ms. C stayed up all night helping me refine this design. She said I'm the most inspired designer she's ever met, and I'll definitely win the 'Skyline Center' project. Go me!"

"Skyline Center."

That was the project Dream Weaver had poured our hearts and souls into, preparing for a full six months. It was the most crucial milestone of my career.

I shot up from the couch, grabbed my car keys, and stormed out of the house.

The office was empty late at night. I unlocked the door with my fingerprint and headed straight to Camilla's office.

Her computer screen saver was still on: our wedding photo. She was smiling, so tender and fond. I felt a wave of nausea.

I tapped the keyboard, the screen lit up, showing a password prompt. I tried my birthday—incorrect. Our wedding anniversary—still incorrect.

I gave a bitter laugh and typed in Leo's birthday.

"Welcome."

The desktop was clean and tidy, and my eyes immediately landed on an encrypted folder. I clicked it open. Inside was the final proposal for "Skyline Center," every detail a culmination of months of my team's and my own hard work.

And right beside it, glaringly obvious, lay another folder, named with a single letter – 'L'.

I opened it. The proposal inside was almost identical to ours, only with subtle adjustments to a few critical load-bearing structures and design highlights, cleverly sidestepping our core patents while retaining the essence of the design. The signature at the bottom was in two neat characters: Leo.

Not only was she cheating, but she was stealing my hard work, my company's future, to pave a golden path for her little toyboy.

My stomach violently churned. I gripped the cold desk, barely keeping myself from collapsing. So, jealousy and betrayal could truly warp a woman into something unrecognizable.