POV: EVRENThe first thing I saw was the ring on Celeste Arden’s finger.Then I saw the man standing next to her.For a few seconds, I honestly couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at.There I was—stuck at the entrance of the Arden family’s grand ballroom, clutching a little black folder with the final wedding documents. Champagne glasses sparkled under those oversized chandeliers. White roses lined the walls. A sea of guests floated around in suits and gowns, all looking like something straight out of a magazine.It looked exactly like the celebration Celeste promised me.Except for one thing.She wasn’t next to me.She was next to Damian Cross.I gripped the folder until my knuckles hurt.“Evren?”Marcus—my friend, the guy who’d seen me through everything—showed up at my side with a glass of champagne. He looked completely out of place, like he wished he could disappear. That should’ve been my first hint something was seriously wrong.“What is this?” I said.He didn’t answer.O

POV: EVRENBy eight in the morning, everybody already knew my name. By nine, they’d made up their minds—I was guilty. By ten, my face was all over the place.I sat in the back of my car outside a coffee shop, just staring at my phone as another alert popped up.FORMER ARDEN EXECUTIVE ACCUSED OF STEALING COMPANY INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY.I tapped on it. Right underneath the headline was my photo.The story called me a bitter ex-executive, hungry to get his hands on Arden Global’s crown jewels—right after Celeste Arden dumped me. They’d pulled quotes from supposed “company insiders.”They said I’d lost it.They said I threatened board members.They said I tried to siphon company assets into accounts I controlled.And Celeste—she was scared of me, apparently.I had to read that last line twice. Then let out a laugh, soft and hollow.Celeste was afraid of me. After seven years of loving her, protecting her, and basically building her family’s company—that’s the angle they went with.My phone

By midday, I’d stopped wondering if someone had planned my downfall. The only question left was how many people were involved. That difference mattered to me. Betrayal is personal, a stab from someone close. But a conspiracy well, that’s calculated. And what happened to me? That was no accident. Every piece fit together too cleanly.Someone had figured out my relationship with Celeste. Someone else knew exactly when she’d be vulnerable. They knew where I stood at Arden Global. They knew the details of the technology I’d poured seven years of my life into. Whoever this was, they even understood the company’s legal back alleys well enough to make taking my work from me look legitimate. That last part—that’s the detail I couldn’t shake.Damian Cross—he’s smart. Ambitious, too. Has the right connections. But he didn’t build Arden Global’s technology division. He wasn’t in those endless meetings where I yelled about IP protections and licensing. He didn’t sit there when Thomas Arden signed

POV: CELESTECeleste barely made it through Damian's front door before Evren's name hit her like a wave. There it was, sprawled across a mountain of paperwork on the dining table. Not just once dozens of times.She froze, hand gripping the door handle. For a few seconds, she couldn’t even breathe. Folders were scattered everywhere—contracts, private reports, tech specs, internal Arden Global paperwork. And then, photos. All of Evren.Evren entering the company. Evren leaving meetings. Evren talking to investors. Evren beside her at charity events. Evren working late at the office.Her stomach flipped, but she forced herself toward the table. One document sat open. The heading screamed at her:CALLoway Technology Division — Strategic Acquisition Plan.Underneath, a list. Evren’s projects. His contracts. His investors. His intellectual property. His weaknesses.Celeste’s hands shook. Then she spotted her own name:CELESTE ARDEN — PRIMARY ACCESS POINT.She stopped breathing. “No.” The wo

POV: EVRENThe call came in at 10:17 p.m.“Evren, you need to see this.”I was in my office finally restored to order—when Adrian walked in. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Worse yet, he looked scared.I turned away from the window.“What happened?”He set a tablet on my desk.“The police found Damian’s car.”“And?”“He left something.”I glanced at the screen.A photo: Damian’s car, abandoned under an overpass. But no Damian. No archive drive. Not even a hint about where he’d gone.“So what’s the problem?”Adrian opened a video file.It was me on the screen. Three years younger, speaking in an Arden Global conference room. I watched myself address a bunch of executives.The video jumped—more clips. Me signing documents. Me discussing the overhaul of our technology division. And then, me telling someone I’d “remove anyone standing in the way.”I stared.“That’s edited.”“I know.”“How did he get the original footage?”“From the internal archive.”Another clip played. This one