Part 1The Divorce That Shook the Company

At the Quantum Solutions' annual showcase, I planned to finally go public with the CEO—my girlfriend, Annalise.

But just as I was about to make my move, a man stood up from the audience. Her long-lost first love. His voice, dripping with arrogance, cut through the expectant silence. "Anna, I can finally stand by your side, out in the open."

Annalise offered me no explanation. Instead, a smile bloomed on her face as she wrapped him in an embrace. She turned to the crowd, her voice bright. "This is Hawthorne Croft. He will be joining us as the Chief Scientist for our new quantum computer project."

The hall erupted in thunderous applause, a sea of faces celebrating the reunion of two perfect souls.

Annalise caught my stony expression and shot me a warning glare. "Ethan, wipe that look off your face. You have a problem with this?"

I gave a slow, deliberate nod. Then, in front of everyone, I walked to the edge of the stage and dropped the brand-new Chief Scientist ID badge into the trash can.

* * *

"Of course I have a problem," I said, my voice ringing with a calm I didn't feel. "Since Professor Croft is so brilliant, why don't you just get married right here, today? Give everyone a real reason to celebrate."

A collective gasp rippled through my colleagues. They were stunned. After all, I had poured every ounce of my being into the quantum computer project, a crucible that had nearly broken my health.

But the shock quickly melted into understanding. Thumbs-up were discreetly aimed my way, whispers of "Good for you" and "So much class" reaching my ears. They understood my magnanimity.

Only Annalise, on stage, seemed to see the truth. Her gaze could have frozen hell over.

I couldn't be bothered to dignify it with a response. She despised office romances, a convenient excuse to keep our five-year marriage a complete secret. Every time I begged to go public, she’d preach about setting an example as CEO. She promised we’d tell the world once the quantum computer was a success.

And now, she had handed my success, my life's work, to him. As the crowd showered Hawthorne with admiration—admiration that should have been mine—Annalise's patience finally snapped.

"Ethan, what is this childish tantrum about?"

A bitter smile touched my lips. "I’d rather miss a thousand chances than betray a single person." My loyalty had been my creed. And it had been repaid with this. I said nothing more, turning my back on the stage and walking away.

That project was my blood and sweat. I had leveraged every contact, every friendship, to crack the core quantum problem in a record three years. I had collapsed from exhaustion in the lab more times than I could count, all to build the pedestal she now stood upon.

But the love I had for her had turned to ash. I would not be the architect of another man's triumph. The project was nearly complete, but a "paper-pusher" academic like Hawthorne? He could have another five years and he'd still be lost in my code.

Down in the parking garage, I swung my leg over the cheap electric scooter Annalise had so "graciously" bought me. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. For five years, she held the purse strings. Every time I asked about buying a car, she shot me down. "The company has cars, Ethan. Why waste the money? Must you always be so concerned with keeping up appearances?"

Yet in five years of marriage, citing "professionalism," she never once let me ride in her car. I had accepted it, believing she was just being frugal for the company's sake. It wasn't until Hawthorne arrived back in the country and she immediately assigned him a Porsche that the truth hit me.

It was never about appearances. It was about me.

My heart was a dead weight in my chest. As I was about to leave, a brand-new, gleaming Porsche blocked my path. Hawthorne rolled down the window, his face a mask of contempt.

"Ethan, look at you. Pathetic. Did you really think Anna would ever acknowledge a loser like you? Hilarious." He sneered. "Thank God she announced it was me today. Imagine the entire tech world laughing if it had been you."

It was his classic move: provoke me, then play the victim to drive a wedge between Annalise and me. So many of our fights had started this way. But today, I was done playing his game.

Just then, Annalise came running out of the elevator. In a flash, Hawthorne deliberately jerked the steering wheel, slamming the Porsche into a concrete pillar with a sickening crunch.

"Ethan, oh my God, I'm so sorry!" he cried out, his voice a pitch-perfect imitation of panic. "I didn't see you there. I know you're upset that I got the position, but you shouldn't have just blocked my way! If something had happened, I would have felt guilty for the rest of my life."

He scrambled out of the car, rushing towards me with a look of feigned concern.

I ignored his performance and tried to maneuver my scooter around the mess, but Annalise's fury reached me first. A vicious kick sent me and my scooter sprawling across the concrete.

"If you want to die, go do it somewhere else! Don't you dare harass Hawthorne!"

A single glance at the security camera would have shown her who was lying. But she didn't look. In that moment, the last embers of my love for her died.

Hawthorne pretended to help me up. I shoved his hand away in disgust, and he immediately stumbled backward, collapsing to the ground with a pained whimper. It was pathetic acting, but for his audience of one, it was a masterpiece.

Without hesitation, Annalise slapped me hard across the face, the sound echoing in the silent garage. Then she was at Hawthorne's side, cradling him in her arms, her voice laced with panic and tenderness. She ran three red lights getting him to the hospital.

Watching them speed away, I remembered last year, when I'd worked myself into a stomach hemorrhage to land a crucial investor. Her response had been to send an assistant with a bottle of antacids.

A bitter laugh escaped me. I picked up my scooter and went home.

Later that night, Hawthorne posted on his social media.

Sometimes a little accident is a blessing in disguise. It’s so nice to be taken care of.

The picture was of Annalise, smiling softly as she spoon-fed him in his hospital bed.

I stared at it, my face a blank mask, and typed a single comment: Congratulations.

A moment later, my phone rang. It was Annalise. I expected a storm of accusations. Instead, her voice was a soft whisper.

"Ethan… Hawthorne is just like that. Once he settles in at work, I'll tell everyone about us. I promise."

"The Chief Scientist title is just for show," she continued, "You'll still be leading the project behind the scenes. Everyone will answer to you."

"Mm-hmm," I said, my voice flat. A slap, then a sweet promise. I'd been eating that particular brand of poison for five years. I was full.

Sensing my coldness, she fell silent for a moment. "I left a gift for you in the drawer," she finally said. "A little something to make up for today. Please, let's not fight anymore, okay?"

I hung up, went to the drawer, and pulled out a beautifully wrapped box. A small, elegant card was attached.

It read: For Hawthorne.

So it was his gift. No wonder she sounded so guilty.

Without another thought, I dropped the unopened box into the trash can.

Then, I picked up my phone and dialed the number for Orion Dynamics, the rival tech giant that had been trying to recruit me for years.

"I've thought about your offer," I said into the phone. "I can start next month."