The Architect of His Ruin

My boyfriend Ethan and I broke up a year ago, but I'm still the one he calls in a crisis. I'm his rock, the foundation of the company we built together. After closing a seven-figure deal for him, the celebration landed me in the ER with alcohol poisoning.

That's where I overheard him on the phone, telling our finance manager to give the credit, the title, and the public glory for my project to his secretary, Olivia.

He said I'd get a bonus check, as if that could pay for my life's work. He then dismissed my past sacrifices, even calling the miscarriage of our child a "blessing in disguise" because a baby would have been a "complication."

That night, at a gala, he proposed in a public trap. As he was on one knee, a screen behind us played faked photos painting me as a corporate spy. Then, Olivia "accidentally" spilled a glass of mango juice on me. I have a deathly allergy to mangoes.

As I gasped for air, Ethan looked from my very real medical emergency to Olivia, who had chosen that moment to swoon dramatically into his arms. He hesitated. He actually hesitated, choosing to comfort her as I was dying.

But a different man saved me. Liam Sterling, Ethan's biggest rival, administered an EpiPen and led me out of the chaos. That night, I sent him a message: "I hold the key to the Henderson project. Every contact, every piece of data. Ethan is about to make a fatal error. Are you interested in a strategic partnership?"