His Betrayal, Her Dublin Escape

Finley Church POV:

I scoffed internally. He was so arrogant, so utterly convinced of his own power over me, that he wouldn't even say the words out loud. "Look at my LinkedIn." He actually thought I'd see his public post about transferring to Austin and immediately scurry to change my own plans, like a well-trained dog.

I pushed him away, the contact with his chest making my skin crawl. "Get out of my way."

I locked myself in my room. On my desk was an unopened box. Inside was a custom gaming mouse, a top-of-the-line model I'd bought for myself. I remembered ordering it, a knot of anxiety in my stomach, worried I'd be too lonely in a new country without him. Now, looking at the sleek packaging, all I felt was a strange, hollow relief.

The next morning, I packed. It didn't take long. My suitcases were surprisingly light. All the expensive bags, the jewelry, the designer clothes he'd bought me over the years-I left them all behind. They weren't gifts; they were gilded chains, and I was finally cutting them loose.

As I was about to close the last suitcase, a wave of panic washed over me. I scanned the room, my eyes darting frantically. It was gone.

My father's hard drive.

It wasn't just a piece of hardware. It was his life's work. The original, priceless source code for the revolutionary game engine he'd developed, the one he was never credited for. It was my most important possession, the very reason I was going to Dublin.

I kept it in a small safe hidden in my closet. And only one other person knew the combination.

Ezekiel.

A sickening feeling coiled in my gut. I snatched my phone and dialed his number. It rang twice, then immediately went to voicemail. He had declined the call.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from my best friend, Chloe. It was a photo from Instagram, posted just minutes ago. Ezekiel, at a downtown bar, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him, his eyes glazed over.

I didn't even bother calling a cab. I ran.

When I burst into the dimly lit bar, he was alone, slouched on a leather couch in a private booth.

"Finley?" he slurred, a drunken smile spreading across his face as he saw me.

I ignored him. I grabbed his briefcase from the floor, dumped its contents onto the table, and began rifling through the papers. Nothing. I moved to him, patting down his pockets, my hands shaking with a mixture of rage and desperation.

As I frisked him, his hands shot out, grabbing my waist and pulling me down into his lap. A low, rumbling laugh vibrated through his chest. "Eager, aren't we?"

The smell of stale whiskey and his cloying cologne made me want to gag. "Give me the hard drive, Ezekiel."

He ignored my demand, his fingers tracing patterns on my back. "Stop being so angry, Finley. Just come back to the bedroom tonight, and I'll give it back in the morning."

My blood ran cold. That code was everything. It was my father's legacy. A "Women in Gaming" historical exhibit in Dublin was waiting for my submission, ready to finally give my father the credit he deserved after all these years.

The submission deadline was today. Midnight.

"Give it back!" I said, my voice as cold as steel. I raised my hand to slap the smug look off his face.

He caught my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "Temper, temper. How about this? A little trade." He leaned in, his hot, alcoholic breath washing over me. "Once we're settled in Austin, we'll get engaged. You always wanted to live in a fun city like that, right?"

The hypocrisy was nauseating. I glanced at the time on my phone. 11:15 PM.

"We are broken up," I bit out, struggling against his grip. "Give me the code. Now. I need it for my transfer!"

He just smiled and let his head loll to the side, pretending to fall asleep. "Shhh. Too loud, baby."

Desperation clawed at me. I frantically waved down a waiter, ordering a pot of the strongest black coffee they had. I forced the bitter liquid down his throat, but he remained limp, a infuriatingly peaceful smile on his face. "What's the rush, baby? I'm so tired. Let's just nap right here."

Panic was a physical thing, clawing its way up my throat. "Ezekiel, this isn't a joke! This is my father's entire legacy!"

My phone pinged. An email from the exhibit organizers. Friendly Reminder: Submissions close in 30 minutes.

I begged him. I pleaded. I even choked out an agreement to his twisted terms, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Okay. Okay, Austin. Just give it to me."

He just kept smiling, his eyes closed.

The clock on my phone ticked past midnight. 12:00 AM.

A final email notification popped up on my screen.

[We regret to inform you that your submission was not received by the deadline.]

At that exact same moment, a message lit up Ezekiel's phone, which lay face-up on the table. It was from Blake.

[Zeke, it worked! The Austin team loved the algorithm! Thanks to the code you gave me, they've already approved me for the lead developer role on the new project. I can't wait to keep working with you!]

I stared at the screen. My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

They dared. They stole my father's work, his soul, for her career.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. A cold, terrifying calm washed over me as I shot out of the bar and into the night.