Chapter 1

The projector hummed, casting Dylan Vance's flawed deployment plan onto the conference room wall.

Ethan Miller, Innovatech's Senior Software Engineer, leaned forward.

"Dylan, that caching strategy on page five," Ethan began, his voice calm but firm, "it's going to create a race condition. If we push this live, we're looking at a potential data corruption event across the entire user base."

He pointed to a specific diagram. "The read/write locks aren't properly sequenced."

A murmur went through the other engineers.

Dylan, barely out of his teens and reeking of his father's investment money, flushed a bright red.

"I, uh, I ran simulations, Mr. Miller," Dylan stammered, fumbling with his tablet. "It seemed fine."

"Simulations can miss edge cases, Dylan," Ethan said, keeping his tone even. "This isn't an edge case. This is a fundamental flaw. It could expose sensitive user data. We're talking millions in potential fines, not to mention catastrophic loss of client trust."

Dylan's eyes darted towards Victoria Hayes, CEO of Innovatech and, for the last six years, Ethan's girlfriend.

She sat at the head of the table, her expression unreadable.

Dylan sniffled, his voice suddenly small. "I just thought... I was trying to be innovative. Maybe I'm not cut out for this." He looked down, the picture of dejection.

Ethan sighed internally. Here we go.

Later, in Victoria's sleek, minimalist office, the storm broke.

"You couldn't have pulled Dylan aside, Ethan?" Victoria's voice was sharp, a contrast to her usual composed demeanor. "He's young, his ego is fragile. And his father is our lead investor, remember? You embarrassed him in front of the entire team."

Ethan stood by the large window, looking out over the Austin skyline. "Vicky, it wasn't about his ego. It was about a critical flaw that could tank the company. Someone had to say something, clearly and immediately."

"He's threatening to tell his dad he wants to pull his internship," Victoria said, pacing. "Do you know what that means for us? For the next funding round?"

Ethan turned. "So we sacrifice product integrity for an intern's bruised feelings and his father's money? Is that Innovatech now?"

Victoria stopped, her eyes narrowed. "I need you to smooth this over, Ethan. I'm making Dylan the lead on the new 'Synergy' project module. It's a good learning opportunity for him. You'll be his senior advisor on it."

Ethan stared at her, disbelief washing over him. "You want me to advise the person who almost deployed a company-killing bug? On a new critical module?"

"It's a chance for him to learn under guidance," Victoria insisted. "And if you do this, if you support him and help him succeed, we can finally go public with our relationship at the company's anniversary gala next month. No more hiding, no more whispers."

Her voice softened slightly. "Isn't that what you've wanted?"

The ultimatum hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His professional integrity, his expertise, all dismissed. Their relationship, dangled like a prize.

Ethan felt a cold knot form in his stomach. The quiet understanding they once shared, the mutual respect, felt like a distant memory.

Victoria misinterpreted his silence, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "I knew you wouldn't pass up the chance for us to finally be 'official.' After all these years, it's time."

Before she could continue, Ethan's voice cut through the air, quiet but absolute.

"I choose option two, Vicky."

Victoria blinked. "Option two? What are you..."

"The one where we rethink everything," Ethan clarified. "And I resign, effective immediately."

He paused, then added, a touch of ice in his tone, "Good luck with Dylan. I hope he's worth it."

"Ethan, what are you saying?!" Victoria, usually so composed, shouted. Her voice echoed in the open-plan office as Ethan walked back to his desk.

He didn't reply, instead reaching for his ergonomic keyboard, a familiar comfort under his fingertips.

He unplugged it.

Next, the small succulent, a resilient little plant he'd nurtured for years.

Then, the framed photo of them from a hiking trip in Big Bend, their smiles wide and genuine, a lifetime ago. He stared at it for a moment before placing it face down on the desk.

This was the desk he'd occupied since Innovatech was just a handful of them crammed into a noisy co-working space, fueled by cheap coffee and big dreams.

"I'm resigning, Vicky. And we're done," he repeated, his voice flat as he logged into his workstation one last time and typed out a brief, formal resignation letter. The printer whirred, spitting it out.

Victoria watched him, her initial shock hardening into a cold fury. "You're 34, Ethan. Head of Engineering here wasn't easy to achieve. You think you can just walk out? The market's tough. Are you really going to be this impulsive over a bruised intern?"

Just then, Dylan Vance materialized, holding two takeaway coffee cups. He approached Victoria's side, his expression a perfect mask of concern.

"Ms. Hayes? Is Mr. Miller upset with me? Did I do something wrong again?" His eyes welled up, glistening with unshed tears. "Is he... is he trying to force me out by quitting? Oh, please don't let him go because of me. He's the veteran, he's so important. I'll leave... I'll tell Dad I'm not cut out for tech."

Victoria's gaze, which had been fixed on Ethan, flickered to Dylan, her expression softening almost imperceptibly before hardening again as she looked back at Ethan.

"I gave you a way out, Ethan. A perfectly reasonable solution." Her voice was laced with contempt. "Did you really think this company couldn't function without you? Fine. Resignation accepted!"

She snatched the letter from his outstretched hand, scribbled her signature across the bottom with a flourish, and practically threw it back at him. It fluttered to his desk.

"You're no longer an employee of Innovatech Solutions. Get your things and leave. Security will escort you out if you're not gone in ten minutes."

A pang, sharp and unexpected, hit Ethan.

They'd met in his senior year of college, computer science majors. She, ambitious and driven even then, had pursued him.

She'd been his rock when his family faced a sudden financial crisis, her unwavering support helping him through his final, toughest years.

Together, they'd poured their hearts and souls into Innovatech, dreaming of a future, of marriage, once the company was stable and successful.

But ever since Dylan's father, a venture capitalist with deep pockets, had invested a significant sum, and Dylan himself had joined as an intern, things had changed.

Vicky constantly made excuses for Dylan's glaring incompetence, his laziness, his subtle manipulations.

She'd warned Ethan repeatedly not to "bully the new guy" or "discourage young talent."

His legitimate attempts to safeguard the company's technical foundations, to mentor Dylan (who resisted any form of actual work), were consistently framed as jealousy or an inability to adapt to new team dynamics.

The photo, face down, seemed to mock him.

He picked up his small box of personal items. The keyboard, the succulent. He left the photo.

He walked towards the exit, past the silent, watching faces of his team.

As he stepped out of the Innovatech office, the automatic doors hissed shut behind him, a final, definitive sound.

A sudden Austin downpour, one of those torrential summer storms, had just begun. The sky was a bruised purple, and rain lashed down, instantly soaking his shirt.

He realized he'd forgotten his umbrella, still tucked away in his desk drawer. A small, insignificant detail, yet it felt symbolic.

He pulled out his phone to call a rideshare.

Insufficient funds.

His joint account with Vicky. He'd deposited the bulk of his salary into it for years, for "their future," for the down payment on a house they'd talked about.

Vicky controlled it tightly, meticulously questioning even small withdrawals for personal expenses.

Yet, just last week, she'd proudly announced she'd leased a brand-new Tesla Model S for Dylan, justifying it as a "company car" for an intern who barely left the office.

The disparity, the blatant unfairness, hit him with the force of the wind-driven rain.

There was no rideshare coming.

He started walking home, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead, his clothes clinging to him. Each step was heavy.

He finally reached the apartment they shared, a trendy loft in a converted warehouse district. He was drenched to the bone, shivering.

He fumbled with the key, his hands numb.

The door opened, and he stepped inside, water pooling around his feet on the polished concrete floor.

And there, in the open-plan kitchen, was Vicky.

She was gently adjusting Dylan's tie. Dylan, looking smug, was boasting about some new pasta recipe he'd supposedly concocted.

They were laughing, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside Ethan.

Vicky turned, saw Ethan standing there, dripping and disheveled.

Her laughter died. An expression of mild annoyance crossed her face.

"Oh, Dylan, just make enough for two," she said, her voice coolly dismissive, not even looking directly at Ethan. "Someone with such high principles probably won't want to eat 'our' food tonight anyway."

Then, she finally addressed Ethan, her tone condescending. "You're back. You must have realized your mistake. Wiser heads prevailed, I see. Go apologize to Dylan for your outburst in the meeting. I can overlook this morning's... theatricals. Your position is still there. For now."

Ethan ignored her, his gaze sweeping past Dylan, who was now smirking openly. He headed towards the bedroom to pack whatever was left of his life in this apartment.

Dylan, carrying a steaming bowl of pasta, deliberately moved to intercept him.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Miller," Dylan said, then "accidentally" bumped into Ethan, hard. The bowl tilted, and hot pasta, slick with sauce, cascaded down Dylan's pristine white shirt.

"Ouch! Mr. Miller, I know you're angry with me, but did you have to do that?" Dylan yelped, clutching his chest dramatically, though the pasta had landed much lower. "That was really hot!"

This was Dylan's signature move. The staged accident, the feigned injury, the immediate playing of the victim. Ethan had seen variations of it used on other colleagues who'd dared to question Dylan's "brilliance."

He was so tired of it. So incredibly tired.

Ethan stopped. He looked at Dylan, at the carefully orchestrated mess. He looked at Vicky, whose face was contorting into an expression of outrage directed, predictably, at him.

Then, Ethan's eyes fell on a large wooden bowl of salad on the kitchen island – a vibrant mix of greens, cherry tomatoes, and feta, probably part of Dylan's culinary "masterpiece."

Slowly, calmly, Ethan picked up the salad bowl.

He walked over to Dylan, who was still dabbing at his shirt with a napkin, a pained look on his face.

And Ethan, with a steady hand, tipped the entire bowl of salad directly over Dylan Vance's head.

Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber slices, and a generous amount of vinaigrette dripped down Dylan's shocked, sputtering face, tangling in his carefully styled hair.

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Then, Victoria screamed. "Ethan! Are you insane?! What is wrong with you? Why are you always targeting Dylan! He's done nothing to you! You disappoint me so much, I can't even look at you!"

"Good," Ethan retorted, his voice devoid of heat, just a profound weariness. "Then we never have to see each other again."

He turned back towards the bedroom to pack.

Victoria, torn between fury at Ethan and the need to tend to a now genuinely wailing Dylan – who was dramatically gagging on a piece of arugula – eventually grabbed Dylan's arm.

"Come on, sweetie, let's get you cleaned up. Don't worry, I'll deal with... him." She shot Ethan a look of pure venom before steering the dripping, sobbing intern towards the master bathroom.

Alone, finally, in the sudden quiet, Ethan felt a strange sense of release, almost lightness.

The charade was over.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers surprisingly steady despite the lingering chill from the rain.

He scrolled through his contacts and found the number for Apex Dynamics, a leading tech firm, a major competitor to Innovatech. They had tried to recruit him multiple times over the past two years, with increasingly generous offers.

He'd always politely declined, citing his loyalty to Vicky and their company, their shared dream.

Now, that loyalty felt like a fool's errand.

Apex Dynamics was his lifeline.

He pressed call.

It rang twice.

"Apex Dynamics, Human Resources, Sarah speaking."

"Sarah, hi, it's Ethan Miller."

A pause, then recognition. "Ethan! What a surprise! To what do we owe the pleasure?" Her voice was warm, professional.

"Regarding your previous offer..." Ethan took a breath. "The one we discussed about three months ago... for the Principal Architect role..."

"Yes, of course! Is there something..."

"I accept."

Apex Dynamics had indeed offered him a role as Principal Architect, with a salary nearly three times what he'd been making at Innovatech.

It also came with a significant signing bonus and stock options in a company that was already publicly traded and highly successful.

He'd turned it down flat, telling himself that building something from the ground up with Vicky was more rewarding, that their shared vision was priceless.

Now, that vision was shattered, and Apex's offer felt like a rescue raft in a stormy sea.

The HR manager at Apex, Sarah, was audibly thrilled. "Ethan, that's... that's fantastic news! You've made our day! Our CTO will be ecstatic. Can you come in tomorrow to sort out the paperwork? We can get you onboarded as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow sounds good," Ethan confirmed, a sense of calm settling over him. "What time works for you?"

They arranged a time.

He hung up and began to pack.

It didn't take long. His life in this apartment, the one he'd shared with Vicky, felt surprisingly transient.

In the back of the bedroom closet, tucked under a pile of Dylan's oversized, brightly colored hoodies (Dylan seemed to be colonizing every part of their shared space), Ethan found a custom-framed print.

It was a star chart, meticulously mapping the night sky as it had appeared on the date of their first anniversary. A gift he'd spent weeks researching and designing.

Vicky had cried when he gave it to her, professing that it was the most thoughtful gift she'd ever received, promising to cherish it forever.

Now, it was gathering dust, forgotten.

The expensive, archival-quality box it had come in was now filled with something else: a collection of glossy selfies of Vicky and Dylan.

Vicky and Dylan at various trendy Austin hotspots – a new rooftop bar, a popular food truck park, even a concert Ethan had wanted to go to but Vicky had claimed she was "too busy" for.

In every photo, they were beaming, close, intimate.

The message couldn't have been clearer.

He looked at the beautiful star chart, once a symbol of their love and shared dreams.

Then, he walked over to the large trash receptacle in the corner of the room and, without a second thought, dropped the framed print into it. It landed with a dull thud.

His other belongings barely filled one large suitcase and a backpack.

A few changes of clothes, some books, his laptop, and the ergonomic keyboard and succulent he'd rescued from his office desk.

He moved back to his old bachelor pad, a small but well-located condo he'd bought before Innovatech had even been a registered company. He'd kept it as a rental property, but it had recently become vacant.

Its minimalist style – clean lines, neutral colors, uncluttered spaces – was a stark contrast to the flamboyant, an_d often ostentatious, tastes Vicky had imposed on their shared loft.

It felt... right. Like coming home to himself.

As he was unpacking, his phone rang.

It was Vicky.

Her tone was surprisingly mild, almost conciliatory, a complete shift from her earlier fury.

"Ethan, stop this. This whole tantrum has gone on long enough. Dylan is a good kid, really. He's sensitive, but he won't hold a grudge about what you did with the salad. He understands you were just... stressed."

Ethan remained silent, listening.

"Rest up tonight," Vicky continued, her voice softening further. "And tomorrow, you can come into the office and start as Dylan's senior tech advisor on the Synergy project. We'll put this all behind us."

Then, the kicker. "And... we'll set a date for the wedding. How does three months from now sound? We can finally make it official. Happy now?"

The offer of marriage, the thing he had once longed for, now felt like a crude, manipulative ploy, a desperate attempt to regain control.

In the background, he could hear Dylan's voice, a high-pitched whine. "Vicky, I don't think Ethan really wants to work with me... he's so experienced, and I'm... I'm still learning so much. He probably thinks I'm stupid..."

Vicky's voice cooed, sickeningly sweet. "Dylan, sweetie, don't you worry your handsome little head about it. I'm here. Ethan won't bother you. He'll do as he's told."

Ethan scoffed into the phone, a harsh, dry sound. "Me, his advisor? Is Dylan even qualified to turn on a computer without step-by-step instructions? If he's as brilliant as you seem to think he is, he won't need an advisor, especially not me."

Vicky's tone instantly hardened. The velvet glove was off. "I'm offering you marriage, Ethan! Our future! Don't you dare throw this back in my face! You'll regret this, Ethan Miller! You'll regret this for the rest of your miserable life!"

She hung up with a vicious click.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed with an incoming video call.

It was Dylan.

He was sitting in Vicky's large, ergonomic CEO chair in her office, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. He swiveled back and forth, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"Hey there, Ethan," Dylan said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Vicky let me use her office to catch up on some work. Said I needed a quiet space to focus. She even brought me a latte, hazelnut, my favorite. Did she ever do that for you?"

He panned the phone camera around the office, showing off. "She's also put me in charge of all your old projects. Synergy, Phoenix, even that legacy system upgrade you were so worried about. Guess you're yesterday's news, buddy. Out with the old, in with the new, right?"

"Great," Ethan said, his voice flat. "Try not to bankrupt her company in a week. Though, on second thought, don't let me stop you."

He hung up on Dylan's string of surprised curses.

The next day, Ethan went to Apex Dynamics. The offices were impressive, modern, and buzzing with a quiet energy he hadn't realized he'd missed.

The paperwork was straightforward. His new boss, the CTO, a highly respected figure in the industry, welcomed him warmly and outlined the challenging and exciting projects he'd be leading.

It felt good. It felt right.

On his way home, he decided to walk through Zilker Park. It was a beautiful Austin evening, and the annual food truck festival was in full swing. The air was filled with the delicious aroma of barbecue, tacos, and funnel cakes.

He was about to grab a brisket sandwich when he saw them.

Vicky and Dylan.

They were at a brightly lit stall, participating in a cheesy "Couples' Spicy Taco Challenge."

Ethan remembered suggesting they do something similar, a silly local festival, years ago. Vicky had scoffed, calling it "tacky" and "beneath them."

Now, she was laughing, her face flushed, as Dylan, with much bravado, downed a taco dripping with hot sauce.

They won. The prize was a giant, oversized sombrero.

Dylan placed it jauntily on Vicky's head, and she playfully adjusted it, both of them roaring with laughter.

As they turned, still laughing, Vicky spotted Ethan.

Her smile froze.

She immediately, almost instinctively, stepped away from Dylan, her hand dropping from his arm.

Dylan, however, just smirked when he saw Ethan, his eyes glinting with malice.

"Well, well, Ethan. Fancy meeting you here. Following us? A little desperate, are we?"

Vicky's face clouded over, her earlier good humor vanishing. "Ethan, what are you doing here? Are you tracking me now? Is that what this is?"

"Just grabbing dinner," Ethan said, gesturing vaguely towards the food trucks. His voice was calm, neutral.

Vicky's eyes narrowed. "You're not even working at Innovatech anymore. What possible business could you have here? Stop lying, Ethan. This is an invasion of my privacy! How can I possibly marry you if there's no trust between us?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Marry *me*? You two look pretty cozy over there with that giant sombrero. Given the public display of affection, maybe you should marry *him*."

Vicky flushed a deep red, whether from anger or embarrassment, Ethan couldn't tell.

Dylan, ever the performer, interjected smoothly, putting an arm around Vicky's shoulders. "Ethan, don't be like that. I just really wanted that sombrero, and Vicky was being a good sport, helping me win it. We're just friends, colleagues."

"We're over, Vicky," Ethan said, his voice firm but quiet. "What you do, and with whom you do it, is none of my business. Enjoy your tacos."

He turned and walked away, not looking back, leaving them standing there, Vicky looking stunned and Dylan, for once, looking slightly less smug. He could feel their eyes on his back, but he didn't care.

He bought his brisket sandwich from a different truck and ate it slowly, savoring the taste of freedom.

Back at his condo, his phone started buzzing relentlessly.

A flood of messages from Vicky:

[Ethan, you actually moved out? All your stuff is gone!]

[This tantrum has gone on long enough! Are you trying to make me beg?]

[You can't just throw away six years!]

He noticed on social media that she'd unfriended him. All their old photos together, the ones she'd curated so carefully, had been scrubbed from her profile.

He scrolled to her contact in his phone and, without hesitation, pressed delete.

The next few days, Ethan immersed himself in his new role at Apex Dynamics. The work was challenging, the team was brilliant, and he felt a sense_of purpose he hadn't realized had been slowly eroding at Innovatech.

Vicky, meanwhile, seemed to be on a mission. Her social media feed was a constant stream of photos and updates featuring her and Dylan.

Vicky and Dylan at trendy new restaurants.

Vicky and Dylan on a weekend trip to the Hill Country.

Vicky and Dylan at a charity gala, Dylan looking awkward in a rented tuxedo, Vicky beaming by his side.

It was so blatant, so obviously designed to provoke a reaction from him, that Ethan almost found it amusing. He didn't react. He didn't care.

A few days later, a large cardboard box labeled "ETHAN MILLER – PERSONAL EFFECTS" arrived at his condo, delivered by a courier.

He opened it.

Inside, meticulously packed, were all their shared memories.

Letters they'd exchanged during their college days, full of youthful idealism and declarations of love.

Souvenirs from their trip to Big Bend National Park – a smooth river stone, a pressed wildflower, the goofy photo he'd left behind.

A playbill from the first concert they'd attended together.

Old birthday cards, anniversary gifts, little trinkets that had once held so much meaning.

He carried the box out to the small balcony of his condo. He had a small, portable fire pit out there.

Methodically, one by one, he began to feed the mementos into the flames.

The letters first, then the souvenirs, then the photos.

He watched as the paper curled and blackened, the ink fading into ash.

It wasn't angry destruction. It was a calm, deliberate cleansing.

He was about halfway through the box, feeding a particularly sentimental photo of them laughing on a beach into the fire pit, when the apartment door burst open.

Vicky rushed in, her eyes wide and frantic.

She saw the fire pit, saw what he was doing.

"Ethan! What are you doing?!" she shrieked, lunging towards the balcony.

She reached into the flames, snatching the half-burnt photograph, crying out as the heat singed her fingers.

"Don't you remember what these mean to us? How could you?" She stared at the charred remains in her hand, then at him, her face a mask of disbelief and hurt.

She'd sent them, he realized. She'd sent the box hoping to make him nostalgic, hoping to make him apologize, to come crawling back. It was her usual way of offering an olive branch, indirectly, manipulatively.

"You sent them back for me to deal with, didn't you?" Ethan asked calmly, his voice even. "They're just things, Vicky. Reminders of something that's over. Better to get rid of them. Clean break."

Vicky looked at him, truly astonished by his detachment, his lack of emotional display. This wasn't the Ethan she knew, or thought she knew.

"Ethan, please," she said, her voice suddenly softer, pleading. "I... I was wrong. About the meeting, about Dylan. I know you were just thinking of the company's best interests. I only defended Dylan so harshly because of his father, the investment... you know how much pressure I'm under."

She took a step closer. "I'm sorry. Come back to Innovatech. Come back as Head of Engineering. We need you. I need you. You and Dylan... you can be peers. Just... try to avoid his projects, okay? For my sake."

Ethan remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"But," she added, her tone shifting slightly, a hint of the old command creeping back in, "you need to apologize to Dylan. For the salad incident. He was very upset. Once he forgives you, you can return. Everything can go back to normal."

Ethan let out a short, humorless laugh. "Vicky, you still don't get it, do you? You think I want to come back to that circus? And apologize to *him*? Dylan Vance doesn't deserve an apology from me or anyone else. He deserves a reality check."

Vicky's face hardened again, her frustration evident. But then, her expression shifted, becoming almost triumphant.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a crisp, cream-colored card.

A "Save the Date" card.

With their names – Ethan Miller & Victoria Hayes – elegantly printed on it.

And a date. Three weeks from today.

"Ethan, stop this foolishness," she said, her voice firm, confident. "I've booked the venue. The Driskill. The caterers are confirmed. The guest list is drafted. We're getting married. This should make you happy. This is what you've always wanted."

She pressed the card into his hand. It felt alien, wrong.

"Get ready," she said, turning to leave, every inch the CEO in control. "I'll pick you up. Be ready by six."

She swept out of his condo, leaving him standing there with the ridiculous invitation in his hand.

The date on the card.

It was the same day he was scheduled to lead his first major project presentation at Apex Dynamics, a critical milestone for his new career.

Later that evening, he received a text message. Unknown number.

[Heard Vicky's trying to strong-arm you into a wedding. Don't get too comfortable, old man. This wedding won't happen if I have anything to say about it. She belongs with someone younger, more exciting. Someone like me. 😉]

It had to be Dylan. The arrogance, the taunt, the emoji. It was unmistakable.

Ethan just shook his head and deleted the message.

This whole situation was beyond absurd.