Chapter 3

Chloe stepped out of the elevator, her heels clicking aggressively on the marble floor. Ethan trailed behind her, his hand on her arm, a perfect picture of supportive fiancé.

"What was that stunt with the server code, Alex?" she demanded, her voice loud enough for the security guards to hear clearly.

"I helped out a friend," I said calmly, looking at Mark, who was now standing awkwardly in the hallway behind them.

"You're not an employee anymore," she snapped. "You accessed proprietary data. That's a crime."

I almost laughed. My data. My code.

"You were about to lose millions of dollars in market value," I said. "You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Her laugh was harsh. "For what? For trying to make yourself seem indispensable? For trying to sabotage me on my big day?"

She was spinning the narrative, painting me as the disgruntled ex-employee, the stalker who couldn't let go.

Ethan stepped forward slightly. "Chloe, darling, don't upset yourself," he murmured, his voice full of false concern. "He's not worth it." Then he looked at me, his eyes wide and pleading. "Please, just leave her alone. She's been under so much stress."

He was good. He was very, very good.

I looked at him, really looked at him. The expensive, tailored suit hung on him just a little too loosely. The haircut was the same style I'd had two years ago. The watch on his wrist was a newer model of the one Chloe had bought me for my birthday.

It was sickening. She hadn't found someone new. She had found a replacement. A newer, more compliant version of me.

My silence seemed to fuel Chloe's anger. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper.

"I know what you're doing, Alex. You think you can't live without me. You think you're entitled to a piece of my success."

"Your success?" I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "I wrote half the algorithms that success is built on."

"Lies," she hissed. "You were a junior coder. A charity case I kept on the payroll because I felt sorry for you."

The security guards shifted their weight, looking uncomfortable. Mark looked like he was about to explode.

Ethan put a protective arm around Chloe. "Sir," he said to me, his voice trembling just enough to be convincing. "I don't know what your history is with Chloe, but she's with me now. You need to accept that."

He was enjoying this. The power, the drama. He was feeding off it.

I felt the anger coiling in my gut, tight and hot. She was erasing me. Not just from her life, but from my own history.

"Let's go, Chloe," I said, my voice low and steady. "Let's tell everyone the truth. Let's go down to the press room and tell them about the seven years you spent hiding me. About the promises you made. Let's see how the market reacts to that."

Panic flickered in her eyes, just for a second, before being replaced by pure contempt.

She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a checkbook. She scribbled on it furiously, tore it out, and thrust it at my chest.

"Here," she spat. "Take it. Five million. Is that enough? Will that finally make you disappear?"

The paper felt like poison in my hand. My fingers trembled, not from weakness, but from a rage so profound it felt like it could split me in two.

She was trying to reduce everything we had, everything I had given her, to a financial settlement. An NDA in the form of a check. She was trying to make me a whore.

I looked from the check to her face. I saw the arrogant smirk, the absolute certainty that she had won, that she could buy her way out of any consequence.

And then I looked at Ethan. He was watching me with that same flicker of triumph in his eyes. He and Chloe, they were two sides of the same debased coin.

My hand clenched, crumpling the check. I was going to lose it. I was going to scream, to break something, to give her the ugly scene she so desperately wanted.

But then I saw him. Ethan. He was subtly adjusting the collar of his shirt, a nervous tic. And on his collar, I saw it. A small, almost invisible pin.

An omega symbol. The same one from the necklace in my pocket. A private symbol we had designed together. Our symbol.

She had given him my symbol.

The rage inside me solidified into something colder, harder, and infinitely more dangerous.

"Keep your money, Chloe," I said, my voice eerily calm.

I let the crumpled check fall to the floor.

"But there is something of mine I want back."