Chapter 3

The next morning, I walked into the studio with a couple of empty boxes. It felt strange. Like visiting a museum of my own past life.

A few junior devs averted their eyes. Others offered tight, sympathetic smiles. Most just pretended I wasn't there.

Sophia was waiting for me near my old office, arms crossed. Caleb lounged in my chair, feet up on my desk, smirking.

"Decided to finally show some responsibility and pack your failures?" Sophia's voice dripped sarcasm.

"Just getting my things, Sophia."

I started with my custom-built rig. The one I'd spent hundreds of hours perfecting. My ergonomic keyboard, the Wacom tablet. My collection of vintage programming books.

Caleb watched me, a proprietary air about him.

"You know," he said, loud enough for the nearby cubicles to hear, "Sophia's thinking of redecorating. This whole 'nerd cave' vibe isn't really CEO-adjacent, is it?"

I ignored him.

My gaze fell on the small, framed photo on the bookshelf: Sophia and me, years ago, at GDC, beaming after our first indie game won an award. Her arm was around me, her smile genuine. Before the ambition soured her.

I left it there.

As I packed the last box, I saw them. My Porsche keys. Dangling from Caleb's fingers. He twirled them, the Porsche logo glinting.

It was a 911 Carrera. Guards Red. I'd bought it with the payout from my first major software patent, long before the studio, long before Sophia. A gift to her when we got married. A symbol of... something I thought we had.

"Nice ride," Caleb drawled, catching my eye. "Sophia's been talking about trading it in. Maybe for something a bit more... current. Or maybe just signing it over. She's very generous." He winked.

He'd already posted a picture of himself leaning against it on Instagram. Caption: "Future so bright, gotta wear shades. #Gifted #CEOperks."

The prick.

Sophia just watched, a cold little smile on her face.

"All done?" she asked, as I taped up the last box.

"All done."

I picked up my boxes. Walked past them. Past the silent, watching faces of the employees.

No goodbyes. No well wishes. Just the hum of computers and the faint scent of stale coffee.

At the door, I paused.

"Oh, Sophia," I said, not turning around. "About that Porsche. Make sure your boy Caleb knows how to handle a manual. It's a bit touchy."

I didn't wait for a reply.