Chapter 3

The next morning, I walked into the office of "Davis Designs," the company that bore her name but was built on my back. My plan was simple: tender my resignation. My personal life was a mess, but my professional life would be clean.

I remembered the beginning. I had joined her small, failing startup as a lead developer. She had big ideas but no technical skills. I was the engine that made her vision a reality.

In the early days, she tried to pay me a junior developer's salary. I had laughed.

"Chloe, this isn't a charity," I had told her, sitting across from her in a tiny, rented office space. "I'm worth more than this, and you know it. I want a partnership stake and the title of Chief Technology Officer."

She had protested. "A partnership? Ethan, this is my company."

"And it will be a bankrupt one in six months without me," I said, my tone firm. "I'm not just an employee. I'm building your entire product from scratch. I handle the technical team, I manage the projects, I interface with the clients on all technical matters. I deserve to be compensated for my value."

She had argued, tried to guilt me, talked about how we were a team in our personal lives and I should be more supportive. But I held my ground. I knew my worth. Finally, reluctantly, she had agreed. I became the CTO, with a 30% stake in the company.

Under my technical leadership, the company thrived. We landed major contracts. Our software became a respected name in the industry. But the success never translated to respect for me. To Chloe, I was still just the hired help who happened to share her bed. The company's profits went to funding her lavish lifestyle and her father's endless medical needs, while my team and I worked on outdated equipment.

As I walked through the office, I saw Jake Peterson sitting at a desk near Chloe's empty office. He was supposed to be grieving hundreds of miles away. Instead, he was here, in our workplace, looking perfectly comfortable.

He saw me and gave me a small, awkward wave. I ignored him and walked toward my office.

Before I could reach it, Chloe stormed out of her own office, her face a mask of fury. She must have just gotten my text.

"Ethan Miller! What the hell is the meaning of this?" she hissed, keeping her voice low but venomous. "You stopped the payment for my father? Are you trying to kill him?"

A few heads popped up from their cubicles, a silent audience to our drama. Liam, my assistant, looked up with wide, concerned eyes before quickly looking back down at his screen.

"I am no longer financially responsible for your family, Chloe," I said calmly.

"We are a family!" she shot back. "Or did you forget that?"

"Did you forget that when you ran off to your ex-boyfriend's side?" I countered, my voice still even.

"That's different! He was in crisis! You are supposed to be the stable one, the one I can rely on!"

Her hypocrisy was breathtaking. She could abandon me for another man, but I was expected to maintain the financial stability of her life, no questions asked. I remembered all the times Liam had come to me, complaining that Chloe had him running her personal errands on company time-picking up her father's prescriptions, taking her car for an oil change, even buying groceries for her. She saw everyone as her personal assistant.

The company was a reflection of her personality: a user, taking whatever it could get and giving nothing back. It was time to leave.