Chapter 3

Hazel Horton POV:

The familiar glass facade of AuraTech loomed before me, reflecting the indifferent midday sun. I had poured four years of my life into this place. Every line of code, every design iteration, every strategic pivot-it had my fingerprints all over it. Not just my father' s seed money, but my sweat, my intelligence, my vision. Bryon had been the charming face, the smooth talker who wooed investors and rallied the troops. But I was the architect, the quiet force behind the scenes, building the actual product that made AuraTech more than just a slick presentation.

I remembered the day we decided to start AuraTech. Bryon had been struggling, his previous ventures failing one after another. I was just finishing my Ph.D. in AI and had a lucrative offer from a top-tier tech firm. But he' d looked at me with those earnest, hopeful eyes and told me we could build something together, something truly impactful. He promised we' d be partners, equals. That my brilliance would be celebrated. I believed him. So I turned down the corporate job, sacrificing the public recognition of my own achievements, to work alongside him. For us. For our shared dream. For love.

What a fool I had been. Love was a currency he spent carelessly, a shield he hid behind. My sacrifices, my unwavering support, my downplaying of my own genius so his ego could flourish – it was all for nothing. It was wasted. He hadn't wanted a partner; he'd wanted a puppet. A silent, capable benefactor who would quietly make him look good.

My jaw tightened. No more.

I walked through the lobby, past the familiar faces, none of whom dared to meet my gaze for too long. The whispers followed me like a shadow, but I ignored them. My focus was singular. I headed straight for Human Resources, my steps measured and deliberate.

The HR manager, a nervous young woman named Sarah, looked up, startled, as I entered her office. She seemed to shrink under my gaze. I placed a crisp, official-looking document on her desk.

"I need you to process my resignation, effective immediately," I stated calmly, my voice betraying no emotion. "And I'm exercising my clause to take a sabbatical, effective a month ago. Backdated to when I first went on leave for my pregnancy." I looked at her, my eyes steel. "It' s a standard clause in my co-founder agreement. My lawyers have already reviewed it. It protects my IP and my team's IP, which is a significant portion of AuraTech's core technology."

Sarah' s eyes widened. "But Ms. Horton... no one ever..."

"Just process it, Sarah. You have the documents. My lawyers will be in touch to finalize the details and ensure all the intellectual property transfer protocols are followed. Don't worry about AuraTech's future projects with my tech; I' ve ensured the remaining code is open-source and easily adaptable. My team has been preparing for this for a while." I chose my words carefully, planting seeds of doubt, hinting at an organized, legitimate departure, not a vengeful one.

Sarah, clearly intimidated, nodded frantically. "Yes, Ms. Horton. Immediately."

I gave her a curt nod and turned, walking towards my old department – the product development and engineering hub. The heart of AuraTech, the true engine of its innovation. My sanctuary.

As I neared my office, a small crowd had gathered. My team. My brilliant, loyal engineers and developers. They looked concerned, their faces a mix of anxiety and curiosity. Had the whispers reached them already?

Then, the elevator doors chimed, and out stepped Bryon, a thundercloud on his face. Dorian, smirking and confident, was right behind him, her arm linked possessively through his. Of course. They hunted in pairs.

Bryon's eyes immediately landed on me, his face contorting in a mixture of anger and confusion. "Hazel! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be home! You're pregnant, remember? What if something happens to the baby?" His voice was a blend of false concern and thinly veiled accusation, designed to make me feel guilty, to put me back in my place.

"Just tying up some loose ends, Bryon," I said, my voice deliberately casual. "You know, administrative things." I gestured vaguely towards the HR office. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about." I threw Dorian's own words back at her, a subtle barb I knew only she would catch. Her smirk tightened, a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

Bryon, oblivious, puffed out his chest. "Well, good. Because Dorian and I were just about to head to your department. With you... indisposed... I' ve decided to put Dorian in charge of product development, temporarily. Until you' re, you know, back on your feet." He gestured grandly at Dorian, expecting applause.

My team exchanged uneasy glances. Dorian, meanwhile, preened, her chest swelling with pride. She was practically vibrating with malicious glee.

"Dorian in charge of product development?" I repeated, my voice flat. "Bryon, that's absurd."

"Absurd?" Bryon' s voice rose, his face reddening. "She's COO! She's perfectly capable. And you're... well, you're not here, are you?"

"Capable?" I scoffed. I knew Dorian. Her "technical expertise" extended to reading slide decks and charming investors. Her understanding of deep coding, algorithm optimization, and user experience flow was nonexistent. She couldn't debug a simple syntax error if her life depended on it. She was a pretty face, a sharp tongue, and a master manipulator, but a product developer she was not. Her only "contribution" to AuraTech had been siphoning off company funds for extravagant "client dinners" and "team-building events" that were little more than boozy parties. Bryon had always dismissed my concerns about her spending, claiming she was a "people person" who fostered "goodwill."

"Bryon," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "Dorian Gay has zero experience in product development. Zero. She wouldn't know a neural network from a fishing net. She's a marketing and operations person, at best. Her taking over product development would be a disaster. Our entire engineering team relies on a nuanced understanding of our core technology. She couldn't lead them." My gaze swept over my team, their faces now openly rebellious.

Bryon bristled. "That's unfair, Hazel! Dorian is brilliant! You're just jealous because she's closer to me, and you're always so cold and distant!" He turned to Dorian, offering her a reassuring smile. "Don't listen to her, Dor. She just doesn't want to see you succeed."

I remembered the countless times Bryon had declared Dorian a "marketing genius" and "operational mastermind," only to turn around and subtly ask me to "clean up" Dorian's "misinterpretations" of market trends or "streamline" her convoluted operational plans. He preached meritocracy, but practiced nepotism.

Dorian, ever the actress, put a hand to her chest, feigning hurt. "It's okay, Bryon. She's just lashing out. She always does when she feels threatened. It's because she knows I actually care about your vision, Bryon. And that I' m not afraid to get my hands dirty, unlike some princesses." She shot me a venomous look. "You just sit behind your computer, Hazel, pushing out code. How dare you criticize my management style? I actually interact with people!"

My team, who had been quietly fuming, started to murmur their dissent. A few of the senior engineers, the ones who had worked closely with me on every major project, stepped forward, ready to defend me.

I raised a hand, silencing them. My eyes fixed on Dorian, then Bryon. "Oh, I'm not criticizing your management style, Dorian," I said, a dangerous calm in my voice. I reached into my bag and pulled out a sleek, thin tablet. "I'm criticizing your competency. Or rather, the complete lack thereof." I walked towards Dorian, holding out the tablet. "Here. Take a look at these. These are the project reports from the last quarter, the ones under your 'operational oversight.' Specifically, the 'client acquisition' and 'market expansion' initiatives."

Dorian hesitated, a flicker of unease in her eyes. "What is this? I don't understand."

"You will," I said, my voice like ice. "These are the cold, hard numbers, Dorian. The cost overruns, the botched data, the completely fabricated metrics. The millions of dollars you hemorrhaged for 'exposure' that never materialized. The projects you signed off on that were clearly financially unsound. The 'marketing budget' that somehow ended up funding your lavish trips and designer wardrobe, all disguised as 'business expenses'." I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper that carried across the stunned silence. "Do you know what this is called, Dorian? In the real world, it' s called corporate fraud. And it's going to cost AuraTech, and Bryon, everything." My words were not a threat. They were a promise.