“I want Isabella to present your game for the E3 Game Show.”

My husband Michael’s voice cut through my concentration as I sketched a character design.

I stared at the man I had spent five years with.

“Don’t be so petty, Sophia,” he said, his voice cold as stone.

“The studio needs fresh blood. My decision is final.”

He wanted to hand my masterpiece to his new assistant.

I clenched my fists, a fire of rage churning inside me.

Fine. If this is how he wanted to play it, he couldn’t blame me for walking away.

————————

1

Michael and I had been married for five years.

I never thought he would steal the game I designed and hand it over to an assistant who had only been there for two weeks.

As the spotlights flared to life, Isabella stood on the presentation stage, deftly demonstrating the game prototype I had designed.

The betrayal was a shock of ice water down my spine.

The game critics in the audience watched Isabella in awe.

The publishers were nodding in eager approval.

I even heard someone whisper, “This newcomer is one to watch.”

“Her design language is so mature and bold, comparable to a veteran designer with over a decade of experience!”

I sat in the back row, watching a girl seven years my junior command the world I had built with my own hands.

She elegantly raised a hand, pointing out the details that were mine, explaining my design philosophy as if she were interpreting her own work.

Michael sat in the front row, his eyes brimming with undisguised pride, as if he had just discovered an uncut diamond.

At the after-party, he raised a toast to Isabella, hailing her as the “brightest new star at Michael Games” and an example for all.

Under the table, I bit my lower lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood.

After the party, I waited for Michael outside his private lounge.

When he saw me, his face was still flushed with excitement, his eyes sparkling. He had no idea a storm was about to break.

“Sophia, did you see that? Isabella is so talented! Your game practically came to life in her hands!”

I took a deep breath. The cloying sweetness of the champagne turned my stomach.

“Michael, that was my design.”

He paused for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, that.”

“I just thought Isabella needed an opportunity, so I let her try out your game.”

Try out.

The product of three months of sleepless nights was, in his eyes, just a toy for an assistant to “try out.”

“Do you know what this game means to me? That was the work I was preparing to submit to the international GDC!”

A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by that sense of entitlement.

“You win awards every year anyway. What’s the big deal if she gets one?”

“Besides, this is just the E3 preview, not the official competition at GDC.”

I felt an icy hand clutch my chest. Blood roared in my ears.

“Michael, what am I to you?”

He seemed taken aback by my cold tone and looked away. He reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, a weak attempt at comfort.

“Don’t be like that. Isabella is just a kid. She just graduated, so young, no connections. I just wanted to help her.”

I turned and walked away. I couldn’t listen to another word. Every word he spoke was another small, sharp cut.

I heard him call my name from behind me, but I didn’t look back.

I didn’t break my stride.

The next morning, I deliberately missed breakfast with Michael.

When I got to the office, I went straight to my private development studio.

Michael had originally set up this dedicated studio for me within the company headquarters.

I kept all my design awards and game prototype models from over the years here.

But when I pushed open the door, I froze.

I froze in the doorway, the shock hitting me like a physical blow.

All the trophies and certificates in the glass display case were gone. Vanished.

The game posters I had drawn by hand, which once hung on the walls, had been replaced with cheap, generic landscape paintings.

But what sent me into a blind rage was seeing Isabella sitting in my chair.

My original game art was spread out in front of her.

A latte sat on the edge of the desk. She looked languid and relaxed, as if she owned the place.

When she saw me, a flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly replaced it with her signature innocent expression.

“Sophia, you’re here. Mike said I could work here for a while. The main office is too noisy, it distracts me.”

Mike.

She called him Mike.

Not the more formal “Michael” that everyone else used.

That intimate nickname landed like a poisoned dart.

“Where are my things?”

Isabella blinked, her gaze evasive.

“What things?”

“My trophies. My certificates. My game models.”

“Oh, those. Mike said he put them away for now. He said those awards would put too much pressure on me.”

I stared at her, then turned and marched toward Michael’s office.

He was in a meeting with a few clients. He frowned when I pushed the door open.

“Michael, I need to talk to you.”

“Wait until my meeting is over.”

“Now.”

My voice was quiet, but it was cold and hard. The clients tactfully excused themselves, giving us the room.

When it was just the two of us, Michael impatiently loosened his tie.

“What is it now? Are you still angry about yesterday? You’ve been in this industry for so many years. Why are you picking on a newcomer?”

“My things. In my studio. Why did you take them? Where are they?”

His eyes shifted away, but his voice remained firm.

“Isabella needed a quiet space. And yes, having so many trophies there would intimidate her.”

“That is my studio.”

“It’s my name on the door! I built this company from nothing. I’ll do what I want with it. It’s not your place to question me!”

His words hit me like a slap in the face.

He was right. It was his brand. Michael Games.

And I, the so-called “creative partner,” was really just a tool he used to generate new ideas.

We had married for business reasons in the first place. My design talent was the only asset he truly valued. Even the shares he gave me at the beginning were pitifully few.

I had been so naive.

I thought that after five years of living together, we had built something real.

That our love and trust had become more than just a business arrangement.

That we were no longer that emotionally detached couple in a marriage of convenience.

But now I understood. In his eyes, I was still just an asset to be managed. My feelings never mattered.

“Michael, you’ve changed.”

A complex expression flickered across his face, but it was quickly masked by stubborn pride.

“I’ve always been like this. You’re just being sensitive because you’re facing a talented new designer! It’s just a studio she’s borrowing. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

Talented?

Stealing my work, passing it off as her own, and getting famous for it—he called that talented?

I turned to leave, my mind already made up.

If he could trample on my dignity so easily, then I saw no reason to give him any respect.

For the next few days, Michael and I were locked in a cold war.

He was still asleep when I left for work, and he was already asleep when I came home, cutting our lives into two separate worlds.

But Isabella insisted on causing trouble.

She knocked on the door of my temporary office, a practiced, sincere-looking smile plastered on her face.

“Sophia, I know you have a misunderstanding about me, but I really just want to learn.”

I didn’t look up from the development software on my computer.

“Learning doesn’t mean stealing someone’s workspace and their creations.”

She sat down across from me, her tone sickeningly sweet.

“Actually, I’ve always admired your designs. It’s an honor to be able to work with you.”

“If you truly admired me, you wouldn’t have demonstrated my game and claimed my ideas as your own.”