Chapter 2

The walk from Thorne Industries back to the apartment I shared with Mark was a blur. The bustling streets of Veridia, usually a symphony of vibrant life, were a muted, gray cacophony. The scent of street food, exhaust fumes, and damp pavement barely registered. All I could feel was the cold, hard weight of the phone in my hand and the jagged edges of betrayal carving up my insides.

The apartment, once a sanctuary of shared dreams and cozy nights, felt alien the moment I stepped inside. The cheerful yellow walls seemed to mock me. The photos of us on the mantelpiece-smiling on a beach, laughing at a Christmas market-were portraits of a lie. Every object was a testament to a life that had been a complete fabrication.

He was there, standing in the middle of the living room, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He looked up as I entered, and the mask of the concerned boyfriend was gone. In its place was a cool, appraising look I'd never seen before. It was the look of a stranger.

"You're back," he said, his voice casual, as if I were returning from a simple trip to the grocery store and not the public execution of my career. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the clinking of ice the only sound in the room.

I didn't say a word. I just walked towards him, my legs feeling strangely disconnected from my body. I held up my phone, the screen illuminated with Leo's text message.

His eyes flickered to the screen. For a fraction of a second, I saw a flash of panic, a tightening in his jaw. Then, it was gone, replaced by a slow, condescending smirk that made my stomach turn. He took a slow sip of his whiskey.

"Ah," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "That. I was wondering when you'd figure it out."

The calm admission was more shocking than a denial would have been. The last, fragile thread of hope that this was all some horrible misunderstanding snapped.

"Figure it out?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Mark, you destroyed me. You destroyed *us*. Why?"

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Us? Oh, Clara. You're so naive. There was never an 'us.' There was you, your talent, and the access you gave me. You were a means to an end."

Each word was a physical blow. I could feel the blood draining from my face. My hands, clenched at my sides, started to shake. The air smelled of his expensive whiskey and the death of everything I thought was real.

"Access?" I choked out. "Access to what? Thorne Industries?"

"Bingo," he said, taking another sip. "Leo and I have been working on this for months. We knew Thorne was looking for a new flagship design for their next product line. We also knew we couldn't get in the door. But you could. Your work is good, I'll give you that. Predictable, but good."

He gestured around the apartment with his glass. "You were the perfect cover. The struggling artist, so full of passion. It was almost touching. I just needed your portfolio to get Thorne's attention, and then I needed you to fail spectacularly so Leo and I could swoop in with our 'superior' version and sell it to Thorne's biggest competitor."

The scope of it, the sheer cold-blooded calculation, was staggering. I wasn't just cheated on. I was a pawn. A disposable tool in a high-stakes game of corporate espionage. My work, my passion, my love-it had all been mined, exploited, and discarded.

"So the project... it's not for a rival firm?" I asked, my mind struggling to keep up.

"Not just a rival," he said, his eyes gleaming with a greedy light. "We're selling it to Vance Corp. Leo's father. They've been trying to break Thorne's market dominance for years. This project will do it. And we'll be set for life."

He was proud of it. He stood there, surrounded by the life we had supposedly built together, and gloated about his betrayal. The man I loved didn't exist. He had never existed. I was in love with a ghost, a carefully constructed character designed to ruin me.

"Get out," I said, the words barely audible.

He raised an eyebrow. "I think you have that backward, sweetheart." He walked over to the desk in the corner and picked up a stack of papers. He tossed them onto the coffee table. An eviction notice. Addressed to me.

"The lease is in my name. All the bills are in my name. Your name, however," he said, tapping a different set of documents, "is on a few new credit cards and a rather substantial business loan I had to take out to 'support your dream.' All that equipment isn't cheap, you know."

My blood turned to ice. I stared at the papers, my signature forged on applications I'd never seen. He hadn't just destroyed my career; he had buried me in fraudulent debt. He had systematically erased me from our life and shackled me to his crimes.

"You have twenty-four hours to pack your things," he said, finishing his whiskey. "I'd say it was nice knowing you, Clara, but honestly, it was mostly just work."

He grabbed his coat, walked to the door, and left without a backward glance. The click of the lock echoed in the silent apartment like a gunshot.

I don't know how long I stood there, surrounded by the wreckage of my life. Eventually, I stumbled out of the apartment and onto the street, with nothing but my handbag and the clothes on my back. The city lights of Veridia blurred into a meaningless smear of color. I was homeless, jobless, and drowning in a debt that wasn't mine. I had hit rock bottom.

A sleek, black car, the kind that costs more than a house, glided to a silent stop beside me. The tinted rear window slid down with a soft hum.

Inside sat Julian Thorne.

The streetlights glinted off the sharp planes of his face, casting his expression in shadow and light. He looked even more formidable outside the confines of his boardroom. His stormy eyes were fixed on me, and this time, they weren't unreadable. They were filled with a cold, controlled fury.

"Clara?" he said, his voice cutting through the night air. It wasn't a question. It was a summons. "I believe you have something that belongs to me. My project."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled state, taking in the raw despair on my face.

"Get in the car," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for refusal. "We have a mutual enemy. You're going to help me destroy them."

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