Chapter 1

Mark dropped the bomb on a Tuesday.

"Sarah, we need to talk about Momentum."

He leaned back in his CEO chair, the one that used to be a shared dream, now just his.

"We lost the Henderson account, a big one."

His face was serious, a mask he wore well.

"Cash flow is tight, really tight. We have to make some cuts."

I waited, my stomach a knot. Momentum Marketing was my baby as much as his, maybe more. I was the Chief Creative Officer, the one who actually made the ads that built our name in Austin.

"Your salary, Sarah," he said, avoiding my eyes. "It's going to take a significant hit for a while. Just until we land something new."

A significant hit. He named a number that made my breath catch. Less than half.

"Okay, Mark," I managed. "If it's for the agency."

My loyalty to him, to us, was a deep well, dug years ago in college when he' d been my rock during a family crisis.

Days later, scrolling through Instagram, a bright, shiny post slapped me in the face.

Chloe Vance, Mark' s executive assistant, barely out of college, beaming next to a brand-new Tesla Model 3.

The caption: "Best boss ever! So grateful for the surprise bonus! #Blessed #GirlBoss."

The Tesla was parked in Mark' s executive spot, the one right by the entrance.

A surprise bonus.

While my salary was slashed because we "lost a client."

Disbelief warred with a dull ache in my chest. Without thinking, my thumb double-tapped the screen. A little red heart appeared under Chloe' s triumphant smile.

The next morning, Mark called an "emergency meeting."

The air in the conference room was thick. Chloe sat beside Mark, looking demure.

"Sarah," Mark began, his voice cold. "Your recent social media activity has been brought to my attention."

He gestured vaguely.

"Liking Chloe's post about her bonus, given the current financial sensitivities of the company, is seen as passive-aggressive. It's undermining team morale and creating a hostile work environment."

I stared at him, speechless.

"As a consequence," he continued, his eyes like chips of ice, "your entire month's salary – the already reduced amount – will be docked. It will be awarded to Chloe as compensation for the emotional distress caused."

Chloe dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, her lower lip trembling.

"Oh, Mark, no, that's too much. I don't want Sarah to suffer because of me."

The room was silent, except for Chloe' s sniffles.

Humiliation burned through me, hot and sharp.

"I resign," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

Chloe gasped, her eyes wide with feigned shock.

"Oh, Sarah, please don't leave because of little old me! Mark, you have to convince her!"

Mark looked at Chloe, then back at me, his jaw tight. Goaded.

"Fine," he snapped. "If you're not a team player, we don't need you. And per your contract, voluntary resignation means no severance. You can clear out your desk by end of day."

Some of the senior designers exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. They knew my work, knew what I' d poured into Momentum. But Mark was the CEO.

I walked out of the conference room, their faces a blur.

My phone felt heavy in my hand. I dialed Jess Chen.

Jess, owner of Vanguard Solutions, the bigger, more ethical, and frankly, more successful marketing agency across town. We' d been classmates, Sarah, Mark, and I. Jess always saw my talent, always said Mark was a fool for not valuing it properly.

"Jess? It's Sarah."

"Sarah! What's up? You sound... off."

"I just quit Momentum," I said, the words tasting like ash.

There was a pause.

"He finally pushed you too far, huh?" Jess said, her voice knowing. "Good. I have a Senior Creative Director position open. It's yours if you want it. Significant pay raise from what I last heard you were making, plus stock options. You know my offers have always stood."

I' d turned her down twice before, out of that stupid, deep-seated loyalty to Mark, to the dream we supposedly shared.

"Yes, Jess," I said, a wave of relief washing over me. "Yes, I want it."

I drove back to the downtown Austin condo Mark and I shared. My name was on the deed, sure, but I' d put down seventy percent of the down payment from my grandmother' s inheritance. His name was there because we were engaged, building a life. Or so I thought.

I packed a bag, just essentials. My old sedan felt like a loyal friend as I drove it to the Momentum office one last time to get my personal things.

As I was pulling out of my regular parking spot, a flash of red caught my eye.

Chloe' s new Tesla, speeding around the corner of the parking garage.

She slammed right into my rear bumper.

The crunch of metal was sickening. My head snapped back.

Mark rushed out of the building, Chloe already stumbling out of her Tesla, bursting into tears.

"Sarah, what the hell?" Mark yelled, not even looking at me, his attention all on Chloe. "Were you not looking? You know Chloe is a new driver! Her car, it's brand new!"

Chloe sobbed, pointing at a barely visible scratch on her Tesla' s bumper, while the back of my sedan was visibly crumpled.

"It's ruined! My beautiful car!"

Mark turned to me, his face furious. "You need to apologize to Chloe right now. And you'll cover her deductible, obviously."

The audacity of it stunned me. I took a slow breath.

"Mark," I said, my voice calm, level. "We should call the police and our insurance companies. That' s how this works."

His eyes narrowed. He wanted a scene, wanted me to break down, to beg.

He clearly didn't like my composure.

He tried to pull me aside, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sarah, come on. Don't make this a big deal. Just say sorry to Chloe, we can work out the payment. No need for official reports. Think about it."

His true motive: avoid any record that his new favorite was a reckless driver.

"No, Mark," I said, stepping back. "I'm calling my insurance. And I suggest Chloe calls hers."

He looked like he wanted to explode. "You'll regret this, Sarah. You always make things difficult."

I just looked at him. Regret? The only regret I had was wasting so many years.

I dialed Jess as I walked away from the scene, from him, from Chloe' s wails.

"Jess, can I start Monday?"

"You bet," she said. "Welcome to Vanguard, Sarah. Officially."

Back at the condo, the silence was deafening. Mark wouldn't be home for hours.

I started packing my life into boxes. My life with Mark.

In the back of the closet, I found a box of old photos, letters from our college days. Sketches for our first joint marketing competition – the one we won, the one that sparked the idea for Momentum.

I picked up the first sketch, a logo I' d designed. His handwriting scribbled notes in the margin.

Methodically, I fed each photo, each letter, each sketch into the shredder I' d bought for work, now repurposed for personal demolition.

Then I went to my laptop and deleted every digital file, every shared cloud folder that tied me to him.

It felt like severing a limb, but a gangrenous one. Necessary.

Later that evening, exhausted on a blow-up mattress at my brother David' s spare room, I idly scrolled Instagram again.

Chloe had posted.

A new story. A cozy dinner, two wine glasses, a hand – unmistakably Mark' s, with his college ring – reaching for hers. The location tag: "Uchi." The expensive sushi place I' d wanted to try for my birthday last year, but Mark had said it was "too pricey."

Caption: "Someone knows how to make a girl feel better after a tough day. ❤️"

I felt a flicker of something, but it wasn't pain. It was...nothing. Just a distant observation of a bad movie.

I closed the app.

Mark came to David' s place the next night. He must have wheedled the address out of a mutual friend.

He had takeout from Franklin Barbecue, my absolute favorite, the kind you had to wait hours in line for. He was trying.

"Sarah, can we talk?" He looked tired, a little lost. The arrogant CEO mask was slipping.

"We need to figure things out. Our shared history, everything we built." He set the food down on David' s coffee table.

"I was even looking at those Hill Country wedding venues we talked about last spring."

He was laying it on thick. The old Mark, the charming Mark.

Then I caught it. A whiff of perfume. Chloe' s signature scent, something fruity and overwhelmingly sweet. It clung to his jacket.

Nausea rose in my throat.

"I'm not hungry, Mark," I said, my voice flat. "And there's nothing to figure out."

His face fell. He tried to touch my arm.

"Sarah, don't be like this."

I pulled away. "I think you should go."

He got angry then, the charming Mark vanishing. "You're really going to throw everything away over a misunderstanding? Over Chloe? She' s just an assistant!"

He kicked the leg of the coffee table, a flash of his temper.

"I'm starting at Vanguard on Monday," I said. "My lawyer will be in touch about the condo."

He stared at me, then stormed out, slamming David' s front door.

The smell of barbecue and cheap perfume lingered in the air. I opened a window.

The condo. My lawyer, a no-nonsense woman David recommended, confirmed it. Mark' s name on the deed meant he had to agree to sell. He was already stalling, refusing to sign the initial papers.

To expedite things, my lawyer suggested one final meeting, just to sign the listing agreement. Mark insisted on dinner. "To talk things through, for old times' sake."

I agreed. One last dinner.

He chose a quiet Italian place, reminiscent of our early dates. He was charming, attentive. He even apologized, vaguely.

"Things got out of hand," he said, looking at me with those earnest eyes that used to make my heart melt. "I miss you, Sarah."

For a fleeting, stupid moment, I wondered if there was a sliver of hope. If the Mark I loved was still in there somewhere.

A week later, Jess and I were celebrating. We' d just landed a huge new client for Vanguard, a campaign I' d spearheaded. We were at a trendy new place on South Congress.

And then I saw them.

Mark and Chloe, at a corner table, bathed in the warm glow of a designer lamp.

They were laughing, heads close together. Chloe playfully fed Mark a bite of tiramisu, her eyes sparkling up at him.

He looked happier than I' d seen him in years.

The illusion, that tiny, foolish glimmer of hope from our dinner, shattered into a million pieces.

Jess followed my gaze. Her eyes hardened.

"That bastard," she muttered. She saw the look on my face.

The next morning, Jess called me into her office.

"Close the door," she said, a strange smile playing on her lips.

She tossed a set of keys onto her desk.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A proper welcome to Vanguard gift," she said. "And because I can't stand the thought of you driving that old sedan while that...that child flaunts her ill-gotten gains."

The keys had an Audi logo.

"Jess, I can't..."

"Yes, you can," she said firmly. "It's a company car. High-spec Audi Q5 SUV. Far superior to a Model 3, don't you think? You've earned it, Sarah. Your campaign pitch for GreenTech? Brilliant. This is an investment in my best Senior Creative Director."

I picked up the keys, the cool metal a comforting weight in my hand.

Tears welled in my eyes, but these were different.

"Thank you, Jess."

"Don't thank me," she said. "Just keep kicking ass."

She then told me something else, her expression turning serious.

"Heard some whispers, Sarah. Mark's been talking. Nothing direct, but he's subtly badmouthing you to industry contacts. Vague stuff about 'creative differences,' 'unreliability.' Trying to make it seem like your departure was... problematic."

So, the charm was just for show. The betrayal ran deeper.

A few days later, my phone buzzed with a text from Mark.

A picture. A sonogram, with a generic "Baby Olsen" label printed at the top.

My heart lurched. A baby?

The text below read: "Thought you should know. Maybe we can talk."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me – a pang of something I couldn't name, then immediate, sharp suspicion. It felt...off.

I didn' t reply.

A day later, another text from Mark: "It was a prank. Chloe's idea. Just to see if you still cared. Do you?"

The casual cruelty of it, the childish manipulation.

I stared at the message, my blood running cold.

No, Mark. I didn't care. Not anymore.

I blocked his number.