Chapter 3

The first few weeks were a blur of quiet desperation. I ignored the designer clothes Mark had delivered, the gourmet food that appeared in the fridge. I spent my days on a cheap laptop I'd bought with the last of my gate money, searching for any job that would have me. I sent out dozens of applications for research positions, coding gigs, even tech support.

The rejections came swiftly, or worse, there was just silence. My name, once a mark of brilliance, was now a brand of shame. Every potential employer would do a background check and see the conviction for corporate espionage. I knew Mark' s influence in the valley was vast, and a quiet word from him would be enough to blackball me everywhere that mattered. I felt an invisible wall closing in around me, built by his money and his control.

Finally, my desperation led me to a struggling startup in a rundown part of the city. The office was a chaotic mess of wires and half-eaten pizza boxes. The owner, a man named Henderson, had greasy hair and a leering smile. He didn't care about my past. He just needed a cheap coder. The pay was a joke, but it was a way out. It was freedom.

My first day was a nightmare. Henderson hovered over my shoulder, his breath smelling of stale coffee. He made inappropriate comments, his hand brushing against my back "accidentally." I tried to ignore it, focusing on the code, my stomach churning with a familiar mix of fear and anger.

One evening, I was working late, the last one in the office. Henderson cornered me by the coffee machine. "You know, Ava," he said, blocking my path, "a girl like you, with your... history. You should be grateful for this opportunity. Maybe you could show me just how grateful you are."

He lunged for me, and I reacted on pure instinct, shoving him back hard. He stumbled, knocking over a stack of empty boxes. "Get away from me!" I yelled, my voice shaking.

Just then, the office door opened. Mark stood there, silhouetted against the hallway light. He took in the scene-Henderson on the floor, me pressed against the wall, shaking with rage. But there was no shock on his face. No surprise. There was only a cold, chilling calm. He had been watching. He had been waiting outside in his car.

Mark walked slowly into the room, his presence sucking all the air out. He didn't even look at me. He just stared down at Henderson, who was scrambling to his feet. "You're fired," Mark said, his voice quiet but deadly. Then he turned to the terrified man. "And if I ever hear of you working in this valley again, I will personally ruin you."

Henderson paled and practically ran out of the office. Mark then turned to me. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't offer a word of comfort. He just looked at me with a look of profound disappointment, as if this whole sordid mess was my fault. "Look at this place, Ava. Look at what you've been reduced to." He gestured around the filthy office. "Is this what you want? Is this the independence you were fighting for?" His words weren't a rescue, they were an indictment. He was using my humiliation to prove his point, to shame me back into his gilded cage.