The next morning, I'd just arrived at the office when Felicity's encrypted email came through.

"Everything you asked for is in here. Take a look. This Serena woman really is something."

I clicked on the attachment. It was screenshots of Serena's public social media account.

Her newest post was a close-up of a drawing pen, the Gardelo pen that had disappeared.

The photo was carefully taken, with soft lighting, and an original architecture design book lay open beside it. The caption read, "Mr. Z said my spark deserves the best pen."

I clicked on the next post, and it was a selfie of her with the "Z" necklace.

Serena had put on makeup and tilted her head slightly to show the slender curve of her neck and the necklace. The caption read, "Mr. Z said I'm the only inspiration behind his designs."

The only inspiration.

I looked at those words and laughed in disbelief.

Despite that, I scrolled further.

In one photo, my living room was clearly shown in the background. Serena held my cat in her arms and smiled sweetly. "I got to pet the cat at Mr. Z's house. It feels so healing!"

In another, she sat in my car with my favorite diffuser in her hand. "The scent in Mr. Z's car smells so good. He says it's what helps him relax the most."

Every photo and every caption carried the same undertone. She was clearly staking a claim.

I closed the photos and opened another folder.

It was the information Felicity had dug up on Serena.

Serena came from an ordinary family and graduated from an ordinary university. Her résumé was plain. Getting an internship at a top-tier design firm like ours should have been nearly impossible.

The only highlight was a university competition where she'd submitted a city landscape proposal and won first place.

That detail stayed with me.

I kept scrolling, and when I reached the last photo, my entire body stiffened.

In the photo, Serena stood with a printed design sketch in her hands, smiling with satisfaction. The title at the top of the sketch read, "Norwell Project."

I'd spent three full months on that. It was the core design proposal I'd prepared for our company's most important bid of the year.

It was also the most crucial project of my career.

I shot to my feet and went straight into the lounge inside my office, where my personal, encrypted computer was kept.

I turned on the screen and got the password prompt.

I tried my birthday. It was wrong.

I tried our wedding anniversary. It was wrong.

I tried every important date, and every one of them was wrong.

I stared at the password field as my mind buzzed. Then, a thought surfaced unbidden.

Felicity's file included Serena's birthday.

My hand shook slightly as I typed it in.

"Welcome."

The computer unlocked.

Zachary had changed the password to my personal computer to his mistress' birthday.

The humiliation hit so hard that it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

I bit down on my lip and opened the file manager. The desktop was clean and orderly, and I spotted the Norwell Project folder at a glance.

I clicked on it. The last modified date was yesterday.

I clicked on the recycle bin next.

Inside lay my original Norwell Project blueprint, the first version, layered with the encryption I'd set. The deletion date was also yesterday.

I returned to the desktop and opened the revised version.

The core design was almost identical to mine, but several key load-bearing structures and design highlights had been adjusted just enough to skirt around my patent while keeping the essence of the proposal intact.

The signature line showed the name "Serena Lance".

Zachary wasn't just cheating me and betraying what we had. He was stealing my work, my career, and our company's future to pave the road for his mistress.

I had to brace myself against the desk to keep myself from collapsing.

It turned out that betrayal didn't stop at breaking trust. It could also strip me of everything that I had built with my own hands.

The conference room was packed to the gills as it was the company's annual proposal meeting.

I took a seat in an inconspicuous corner and watched Zachary arrive with Serena, taking the best seats in the front row.

He wore a tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled, and he leaned slightly toward the client representative beside him as he spoke with calm confidence.

Serena sat next to him in a white suit, her makeup sharp and refined. The innocence she once projected was gone, replaced by the polish of a rising corporate star.

Her gaze was full of admiration and affection as she looked at Zachary.

The two of them laughed easily together, looking every bit like a well-matched pair.

Soon, the presentation began.

As the lead presenter for the Norwell Project, Serena stepped onto the stage. She drew in a deep breath and began explaining the design concept.

"The Norwell Project centers around an original 'eco bridge' concept. Think of it as an artery, spanning the city's worst bottlenecks to seamlessly bridge our divided green spaces."

Every word she spoke was something I'd once shared with Zachary during long nights fueled by coffee. I'd explained those ideas to him sentence by sentence, believing we were speaking the same language.

I used to think that was what it meant to be in sync as husband and wife.

Now, I understood it had been nothing more than a one-sided performance on my end, and he'd been the most patient thief of all.

Serena's presentation went smoothly, and when the final renderings appeared on the screen, a low murmur of surprise spread through the room.

When she finished, the applause was thunderous.

The host stepped forward. "Thank you, Ms. Lance, for the excellent presentation. We will now move to the Q&A session."

A man seated in the front row, clearly someone of influence, raised his hand.

It was Aaron Lindell from Cresthill Enterprises, who was known throughout the industry for his sharp eye.

"Ms. Lance, it's a pleasure to meet you," Aaron began. "That said, this project is crucial. Having a rookie at the helm feels like a bit of a gamble. If I'm not mistaken, Ms. Sutton's Riverview Gateway project set the gold standard for the industry."

The question cut straight to the point.

Serena's composure wavered for a split second, but she quickly steadied herself and glanced toward Zachary as if seeking help.

He gave her a reassuring smile and picked up the microphone in front of him.

"Mr. Lindell, thank you for your question."

He stood, sweeping his gaze across the room before letting it settle on Serena with unmistakable pride.

"My wife, Winona, is indeed very experienced in the field of design. However, architecture thrives on fresh perspectives. What stands out most about Serena's proposal is its imagination and vitality, and that isn't something experience alone can replace."

He paused, as if preparing to deliver the line he'd been waiting to say.

"To put it plainly, Winona's designs are mature, but Serena…"

He looked at Serena tenderly.

"She has a spark."

The room fell silent.

A beat later, the applause returned, louder than before.

Zachary had publicly belittled me and diminished my achievements to elevate an intern.

In that moment, the only sound left in my world was the dull thud of my own heartbeat.

Aaron lifted a brow but said nothing further and sat down.

The host smiled and continued, "It seems Mr. Yates has great confidence in our rookie. Now, does anyone else have a question?"

The room fell quiet once more.

With Zachary's endorsement as a company partner, there appeared to be nothing left to ask.

On the stage, Serena bowed, unable to hide the pride and satisfaction on her face.

I put away my phone and, just before the audience could break into applause again, reached for the microphone on the table and stood.

The movement was small, yet it drew every eye in the room.

The host hesitated. "Ma'am, may I ask who you are?"

Zachary's smile froze, while the look Serena sent my way carried a hint of caution.