/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=46b8ac4ba2161e0b69a9b73304ac43c3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Days from launching my passion project, "Ephemeral Echoes," I was a rising game developer, engaged to Ethan, NexusCorp's CEO.
Our publicly perfect life was a tech-world fairytale, built on what I believed was unwavering trust and shared dreams.
Then came the chat log: Ethan's explicit DMs with Chloe Davis, an intern.
Intimate photos from his penthouse.
The real gut punch: Chloe had access to *my* early game concepts, the raw soul of "Ephemeral Echoes."
He hadn't just betrayed my heart; he'd stolen my very creative identity.
A chilling descent followed.
Chloe's taunting DMs, featuring photos of Ethan, and his family's champagne toasts to her "pregnancy"—accessorized with *my* custom-designed necklace.
/0/80029/coverorgin.jpg?v=4b6d628a17c16ffe688c2e2d1cd19030&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/2712/coverorgin.jpg?v=8ff42fe42af56b2cd7b00f99a16ca921&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/58435/coverorgin.jpg?v=c79e8957bd132b392c4cbd2e5ec7f2dd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/444/coverorgin.jpg?v=20171117175509&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/6952/coverorgin.jpg?v=20220108105034&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18231/coverorgin.jpg?v=baf7388257bd58889dba5a3037b6fb03&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18482/coverorgin.jpg?v=cab7f99796a207c586db0721bfc523b3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18155/coverorgin.jpg?v=1f8df100f7e818b6283708871020708d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18308/coverorgin.jpg?v=72d67862bbd8eca142f0de1f1616534a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/32026/coverorgin.jpg?v=5a69a67feb0cd3df5636238b9866f1fc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/52768/coverorgin.jpg?v=20240314113831&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/40555/coverorgin.jpg?v=20230520005450&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78433/coverorgin.jpg?v=9920853165df2f3f5dd4859007538864&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/75843/coverorgin.jpg?v=d4a95b2505f79b6620d063905b7fb5a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/25097/coverorgin.jpg?v=37577a1327a2fba54e85087d0e53448f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18080/coverorgin.jpg?v=92077f1de15d5cf7aa84d8377d333bc1&imageMogr2/format/webp)