Chapter 2

Ethan fumbled with his own laptop, then "accidentally" bumped mine.

The screen flickered.

"Oops, sorry, babe," he said, patting my shoulder.

His touch felt like ice.

Later, as we walked to lunch, his thoughts bled into my awareness again.

This 'Innovate Tomorrow' app is going to be my masterpiece, or rather, her masterpiece that I submit. Brittany will be so impressed.

Brittany. Of course.

She was always there, hovering, his real focus.

I remembered her smug smile at the awards assembly in my... previous life.

A cold, digital voice, tinny and faint, suddenly cut through Ethan' s internal monologue.

It wasn' t his thought. It was something else.

He flinched, almost imperceptibly.

Host, daily 'Affection Interaction' with Merit Source required to maintain transfer.

Host? Merit Source? Transfer?

My mind raced.

His daily "good luck" hugs, those overly familiar touches when no one was looking.

They weren' t affection. They were... transactions.

I remembered the start of the year.

My old laptop died. The school issued new ones.

Ethan had "helped" me set mine up.

He' d been so insistent, spending almost an hour with it.

What had he installed?

MeritShare.

An app. An app that was stealing my work, my "innovation merit," and transferring it to him.

He could then share it with Brittany.

His love, his support, all a carefully constructed lie to get close, to keep me coding, to drain my talent.

The pieces clicked into place, forming a horrifying picture.

My groundbreaking app, my ticket to MIT, siphoned off, line by line.

The humiliation, the disbelief, the accusations of fabrication – it all made sense now.

They didn't just copy my idea; they stole the very essence of my work.

I felt a cold fury rise, but I pushed it down, deep.

He thought I was his coding mule.

He had no idea who he was dealing with now.