His Betrayal, Her Dublin Escape

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ldn't even say the words out loud. "Look at my LinkedIn." He actually thought I'd see his public pos

t with his chest making my sk

model I'd bought for myself. I remembered ordering it, a knot of anxiety in my stomach, worried I'd be too lon

e expensive bags, the jewelry, the designer clothes he'd bought me over the years-I left them

wave of panic washed over me. I scanned the r

er's ha

ource code for the revolutionary game engine he'd developed, the one he was never cre

n in my closet. And only one ot

ek

phone and dialed his number. It rang twice, then imm

photo from Instagram, posted just minutes ago. Ezekiel, at a downtown bar, a

bother calling

bar, he was alone, slouched on a

runken smile spreading ac

o the table, and began rifling through the papers. Nothing. I moved to him, pa

st and pulling me down into his lap. A low, rumbling

cloying cologne made me want to gag

back. "Stop being so angry, Finley. Just come back to t

omen in Gaming" historical exhibit in Dublin was waiting for my submission,

deadline was

s cold as steel. I raised my hand

tle trade." He leaned in, his hot, alcoholic breath washing over me. "Once we're settled

ting. I glanced at the t

ling against his grip. "Give me the c

oll to the side, pretending to fa

k coffee they had. I forced the bitter liquid down his throat, but he remained limp, a infuriatin

way up my throat. "Ezekiel, this isn't a

exhibit organizers. Friendly Remind

nt to his twisted terms, the words tasting like ash i

smiling, hi

hone ticked past

tification poppe

hat your submission was no

lit up Ezekiel's phone, which lay fac

e code you gave me, they've already approved me for the lead develo

. My nails dug into my

my father's work, his

terrifying calm washed over me as I s