The pre-IPO party buzzed with champagne and a decade of my unwavering devotion to Sarah Jenkins and Nexus AI. Tomorrow, everything would change. I saw Sarah across the room, radiant, untouchable, the woman who had promised, "Once the company goes public, Alex, we'll get married." Then I heard her voice, casual, dismissive: "Alex? He's been with me for ten years. I'll definitely take care of him." My world shattered when her tone softened, almost reverent, as she whispered another name: "Ethan Thorne... I want to marry him." Ethan Thorne. Not me. Not the man who' d poured his soul into her dreams, selling his own passion projects to fund her first seed money, holding her while she cried, believing it was "us against the world." The pain was a physical weight. She called me "tarnished," "not pure," because I'd fought by her side in the trenches. I was a "tool to be discarded" now that she was at the top. In a desperate, broken rage, I smashed her laptop, the screen reflecting her chilling calm, her utter disinterest in my anguish. "You're scaring Ethan," she said, her voice sharp, as if my agony was an inconvenience. Then, a grainy video arrived on my phone: Sarah, tied to a chair, a distorted voice threatening, "Your girl for your loyalty, Alex Miller. Come to the old shipyard. Alone." Despite the betrayal, the pain, the disgust she' d shown, my instincts screamed. I had to go. One last time, I would save her.
The pre-IPO party buzzed with champagne and a decade of my unwavering devotion to Sarah Jenkins and Nexus AI. Tomorrow, everything would change.
I saw Sarah across the room, radiant, untouchable, the woman who had promised, "Once the company goes public, Alex, we'll get married."
Then I heard her voice, casual, dismissive: "Alex? He's been with me for ten years. I'll definitely take care of him."
My world shattered when her tone softened, almost reverent, as she whispered another name: "Ethan Thorne... I want to marry him."
Ethan Thorne. Not me. Not the man who' d poured his soul into her dreams, selling his own passion projects to fund her first seed money, holding her while she cried, believing it was "us against the world."
The pain was a physical weight. She called me "tarnished," "not pure," because I'd fought by her side in the trenches. I was a "tool to be discarded" now that she was at the top.
In a desperate, broken rage, I smashed her laptop, the screen reflecting her chilling calm, her utter disinterest in my anguish.
"You're scaring Ethan," she said, her voice sharp, as if my agony was an inconvenience.
Then, a grainy video arrived on my phone: Sarah, tied to a chair, a distorted voice threatening, "Your girl for your loyalty, Alex Miller. Come to the old shipyard. Alone."
Despite the betrayal, the pain, the disgust she' d shown, my instincts screamed. I had to go. One last time, I would save her.
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