For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world.

A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award.

But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio.

"All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares.

Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now."

Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off.

I stand in the corner, my heart in despair.

As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Langley?" My assistant, Walter Moore, sounded rather worried over the phone.

He continued, "Ms. Doyle just signed a performance-based contract with Galaxis. If we pull the investment now, her studio will go under. And if we don't resolve the patent infringement lawsuit, she could go to prison."

I stared at the neon lights outside the window, my heart completely unmoved.

Natasha Doyle and I had been together for seven years now. Not once had she ever acknowledged our relationship in public.

She told me, "Once I've made something of myself, I'll tell the whole world that you're mine."

How many times had she repeated that to me?

Because of that promise, I used all of my family's resources to help her go from being an unknown designer to an internationally acclaimed one.

Yet, all I got in return was her betrayal.

"Carry out my orders," I said to Walter. "No more hesitation."

After I ended the call, I heard the sound of heels rushing urgently toward me from behind.

"Where did you go?" Natasha called out to me, slightly out of breath. "Where's my acceptance speech? And what's going on with you today?"

"I didn't prepare a speech to announce your relationship with Connor Gibson," I said coolly.

Natasha's expression stiffened, but she simply scoffed at me. "Are you jealous? That's just a marketing strategy! Don't you get it? Besides, I have Connor to thank for the studio becoming what it is today. He's the one who got me all the clients, resources, and production support."

Oh, the irony.

Previously, to keep my involvement a secret, I got Michael Wagner, a subordinate of mine, to act as my middleman and provide everything Natasha needed.

But now, she claimed it was all thanks to that bastard, Connor.

"I'm going home." I didn't want to say another word to her.

Once I was home, my phone buzzed. Connor sent me a video of him having dinner with Natasha's parents at the Doyle residence.

"I can't wait for the day you officially become my son-in-law, Connor!" Mrs. Doyle exclaimed enthusiastically as she placed Natasha's hand in Connor's.

Despite having been together for seven years, Natasha had never let me set foot in her family home. Once, when Mrs. Doyle ran into us, Natasha introduced me as her employee.

We had a huge fight over it. But in the end, like countless times before that, I was the one to give in and admit that I was wrong.

A dull ache spread across my chest. I turned my phone off and closed my eyes.

…

Late that night, I was woken abruptly by someone tugging on me. Natasha roughly yanked the blanket off me.

"Get out. Sleep in the living room. Connor is staying in this bedroom tonight."

She spoke to me as if I were her servant. There was no trace of warmth in her eyes.

But it wasn't surprising. For the last seven years, she thought of me as everything from a production consultant and a design assistant to an errand boy. Not once had she ever treated as an equal and her life partner.

Doing my best to keep my anger in check, I asked, "Doesn't Connor have anywhere else to stay?"

"The reporters have been camping outside his apartment ever since the awards ceremony ended. He has nowhere else to go."

How considerate of Natasha.

I still remembered the way she acted after I was hospitalized after getting beaten up by the corporate spies while trying to protect her design drafts. She didn't even bother calling to check on me then.

As I lay in the hospital bed after receiving 23 stitches, she was busy attending a design exhibition and couldn't even spare a message to express her concern.

"That makes sense. After all, you guys have gone public with your relationship," I commented.

Natasha's expression stiffened, and her tone sharpened harshly. "Haven't I already explained to you that it's just a marketing strategy? Don't be such a petty manchild."

I was getting pretty damn tired of hearing that excuse. It was always the same one she gave me whenever she and Connor were photographed being intimate with each other.

"Is it part of your marketing strategy to bring him home to your family? When did your parents start working as reporters? I saw a video of your mother calling him her future son-in-law."

Natasha became visibly irritated. Her fingers tapped impatiently against the nightstand as she snapped, "Stop being sarcastic. My parents have been nagging me about getting married lately.

"Since there are already rumors that Connor and I are together, I decided to just let him help me out to placate them. What's the big deal? Must you make life harder for me at a time like this?"

Sneering, I got out of bed and grabbed a pillow.

"Did you need him to help placate your parents? Couldn't you have just let your parents meet me instead? It's been seven years, and you're not even willing to tell them about me," I reminded her.

My words completely infuriated Natasha. She grabbed my arm forcefully, her nails digging into my skin. "You want me to officially introduce you as my boyfriend? Who do you even think you are?"

She exploded, coming up with all sorts of excuses to defend her actions and attacking me with all manner of accusations. Soon, she'd raised her voice so high that she was practically shrieking.

"Do you even get it? It's because you're a bum without any ambition! All you do is laze around the whole day. What else can you even do, besides writing a few lines of code and drawing a few sketches?

"How could I ever admit in public that I have a boyfriend who has to leech off his girlfriend? That's humiliating! What would my fellow designers, clients, and investors think of me?

"If you had even half of Connor's abilities or career potential, we'd already be married! He brings me resources and opportunities, unlike you, who just take and take!"

The moment Natasha finished her tirade, it suddenly hit her that she'd gone too far. She immediately froze. When our eyes met, she looked away. Even her lips started to tremble.

A dead silence fell over the room. Even the sound of our breathing could be heard. The occasional noise from a passing car outside the window only seemed to emphasize the heaviness of the silence.

I felt as if I'd been stabbed in the heart. Only now did I realize just how pathetic she thought I was. My seven years of devotion and sacrifice were worthless in her eyes.

After what felt like ages, Natasha finally said to me in a much softer tone, "I got you a new desktop computer. It's in the study. And don't take what I said seriously. I'm just far too exhausted right now."

She swiftly exited the bedroom, the sound of her heels fading down the corridor.

How could I not take what she said seriously?

Words spoken in anger often revealed how one truly felt. The tender affection she usually showed me only existed because she needed me.

The next day, I went to check the desktop computer Natasha had given me. It was the model I'd always wanted, perfect for design work.

I didn't really want it right now. I was just curious to see how genuine her "sincerity" was. After all, over the last seven years, she had almost always ignored all of my wishes and desires.

I turned on the computer and saw a video file right on the desktop. It had been created at 3:00 am, shortly after Natasha and Connor had returned last night.

When I played the video, Connor's face appeared on the screen. I could tell from the background that the video had been taken in this study.

Connor was dressed in a bathrobe, his hair slightly damp. It was clear he'd just come out of the shower.

"Hey, Simon. This computer was a birthday gift Natasha gave me last year. I was going to throw it out. The system's too old, and the specs can't keep up with my work. Since she wants to give it to you, you can have it. You don't need a top-of-the-line machine anyway, right?"

There it was. This was Natasha's so-called sincerity—an outdated, secondhand computer she didn't even bother to upgrade first.

The video was still playing. Connor's tone dripped with contempt as he said, "It's bad enough that you're sponging off Natasha, but you even want her to acknowledge you as her boyfriend in public? Don't you have any self-awareness? What makes you think you're worthy of her?

"Do you know how much a single design of hers is worth? What else are you capable of, besides mooching off her and using her money? How can you be so shameless? If I were you, I'd have left without being told years ago!"

I was used to Connor's attitude. Whenever I ran into him at the studio, he would always eye me as if I were some pathetic leech.

After turning off the video, I started clicking on the folders to see what else was there on the computer.

A hidden folder caught my attention. It was labeled "Private". The moment I clicked into it, however, my heart sank.

I was greeted with intimate photos and videos of Natasha and Connor—an astonishing number of them that had been taken over a span of three whole years.

In one photo taken in a dim hotel room, they were curled up intimately on a bed, the sheets in disarray. Natasha was looking at the camera with a sultry expression, her gaze brimming with love. I'd never seen that in her eyes before.

What broke my heart even more was the date of one of the videos. It'd been taken during my business trip last year, when I was working my butt off contacting suppliers for her new project.

Natasha's voice came through the speakers. "You're the only one who makes me this happy… I love you. I love no one but you."

She had never said that to me before.

I turned the computer off. It all became clear to me now.

In Natasha's eyes, our seven-year relationship was utterly worthless. I was nothing more than a pawn she utilized in her career pursuits, disposable at any given moment.

…

With my resignation letter in hand, I made a beeline for Natasha's office. My seven-year tenure as her production consultant was finally coming to an end today.

Upon opening the door, I saw Natasha and Connor going over some documents with matching frowns.

"How are we going to handle this lawsuit? We can't afford the damages," Connor said anxiously.

Natasha's gaze turned sharp the moment she spotted me. "What the hell, Simon? How dare you show yourself here after stealing our designs?"

Oh. So they were fretting over the patent infringement lawsuit. I knew the studio was currently caught up in some legal trouble, but I never expected the blame to fall on me.

"I haven't taken any designs."

"Then who's this in the security footage?" Natasha pushed a tablet toward me. "Isn't this you?"

The video simply showed the back view of a person wearing a shirt similar to one that I owned.

"That's not me," I said before looking at Connor. "Someone's trying to set me up."

Connor immediately flew into a rage. "What are you trying to imply? Are you suspecting me? Natasha, don't you know just how loyal I am to the studio?"

Snorting, Natasha declared, "I'm so disappointed in you, Simon. All these years, you've been using my equipment and drawing a salary from me. I've never mistreated you.

"Now that I have a lawsuit on my hands, it's bad enough that you're not helping me out, but how can you go so far as to frame an innocent man?"

I wanted to stand up for myself, but she had already used her desk phone to make a call. "I need security to come to my office."

Two burly men came walking in.

"Hold him down."

Before I could react, they pinned me to the floor.

Natasha walked over and slapped me across the face. "Hand over the designs. Or else, I'll make your life a living hell."

"I didn't take any designs!" I growled, my teeth clenched.

All I got in response was a punch in the face. I tasted blood in my mouth, my vision blurring.

"You think I won't dare to do anything to you?" Natasha said as she stared down at me.

More blows rained down on my body. I curled into a ball on the floor, my consciousness fading.

"Maybe you should tell them to stop hitting him, Natasha," Connor said, pretending to persuade her. "I'm sure he has already sold off the designs. I'll get in touch with Mr. Wagner and see if he can help us resolve this issue."

Natasha nodded. "See this, Simon? See how much Connor cares about the studio. Meanwhile, look at you. You're the worst!"

Connor made a call. "Hi, Mr. Wagner. We've run into some trouble and—"

"Not interested," Michael responded curtly. "My boss has already decided to pull all of the investments in the studio."

"What? Why?" Connor panicked. "If there are any issues, we can fix them!"

"You want to know why? You can ask my boss himself," Michael replied before giving Connor a number.

Connor's fingers trembled as he dialed the number and made the call.

My phone started ringing in my pocket. With great difficulty, I pulled it out and took the call. "What do you want?"

As I took in Connor and Natasha's shocked expressions, my bloodied lips curled into a faint smile.