Stolen Work, Lost Love

I arrived at the office early the next morning, my eyes puffy and red-rimmed from a night of tears. The birthday candles had burned down to stubs, and the cake sat untouched in the refrigerator—a perfect metaphor for my expectations versus reality. But I was determined to maintain my professional composure. After all, I still had my work, my pride in what I'd built alongside Gabriel at the firm.

The marketing proposal for Stellar Tech had been my passion project for weeks. I'd stayed up countless nights refining it, pouring my creativity and expertise into every slide. The tech startup had enormous potential, and landing them as a client would be a major win for the company—for Gabriel's company.

I set my bag down at my desk and reached for the blue folder where I'd stored the final printed version, wanting to review it one more time before the morning meeting.

It wasn't there.

I frowned, checking my drawers, then the stack of files on my credenza. Nothing. A cold knot formed in my stomach as I turned to my computer and logged in. Perhaps I'd misplaced the physical copy, but I needed the digital files anyway.

That's when I saw it—an email thread in my inbox with the subject line: "Stellar Tech Proposal - Transfer Complete."

My fingers trembled as I clicked to open it. The most recent message was from Gabriel to Isabella, sent at 11:42 PM last night—while I sat alone in our apartment surrounded by birthday decorations.

"Isabella, as discussed, attached is the complete marketing proposal for Stellar Tech. Consider it your welcome-back gift to help launch your consulting career. Lily put this together, but I'm sure you can improve upon it with your Parisian flair. Let's review tomorrow. -G"

Attached was my entire deck. Every concept, every strategy, every hour of work—handed over to Isabella as casually as if he were lending her a book.

The office around me blurred as tears threatened to spill over. I blinked them back fiercely, my shock quickly hardening into something else. Something that burned.

Before I could think better of it, I was on my feet and striding toward Gabriel's glass-walled office at the end of the hall. He was already there, immaculately dressed in a charcoal suit, hair perfectly styled, leaning back in his leather chair as he scrolled through his phone.

I didn't knock.

"You gave Isabella my Stellar Tech proposal?" My voice was quiet but unsteady, betraying the tremor of rage I was fighting to control.

Gabriel looked up, his expression momentarily surprised before settling into something cooler, more calculated. He set his phone down deliberately.

"Good morning to you too, Lily." His tone was light, dismissive. "And yes, I shared the proposal with Isabella. She has valuable experience with European tech markets that will elevate the campaign."

"That was my work," I said, my voice gaining strength. "Weeks of my work. My concepts. My strategy. You didn't even ask me."

"I don't need to ask." Gabriel's eyes narrowed slightly. "The work you do here belongs to the company—to me. Besides, Isabella needs a strong portfolio piece to reestablish herself in Seattle."

"On my birthday," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them. "You stood me up on my birthday to give my work to her."

Something flickered across Gabriel's face—not guilt, but annoyance. He stood, buttoning his jacket in a gesture I once found attractive but now seemed performative.

"This reaction is unprofessional jealousy, Lily." His voice had hardened. "I expected more maturity from you. Isabella is a valuable asset to this firm, and I need everyone to be understanding during her transition."

Understanding. The word hit me like a slap. Understanding was what I'd been for five years—understanding when he worked late, understanding when he criticized my ideas in front of clients, understanding when he forgot important dates.

Before I could respond, voices in the hallway announced the arrival of the team for the quarterly review meeting. Gabriel brushed past me, his cologne—stronger than usual—lingering in the air between us.

"We'll discuss this later," he murmured, not looking back.

The quarterly review was held in the glass conference room, where Seattle's perpetual gray sky created a fitting backdrop for my darkening mood. I sat rigidly in my usual seat, watching as colleagues filed in. Chloe Evans, a junior associate who had helped me compile research for the Stellar Tech proposal, gave me a sympathetic glance.

Then Isabella entered, floating in on a cloud of expensive perfume, her delicate frame draped in a cream silk blouse that probably cost more than my entire outfit. She took the seat directly to Gabriel's right—my usual place.

"Let's begin with our most exciting development," Gabriel announced once everyone was settled. His smile was broader than I'd seen in months as he gestured toward Isabella. "Many of you remember Isabella Hayes from her previous work with us before her Paris sabbatical. She's rejoined our team with some brilliant new perspectives, including a revolutionary campaign strategy for Stellar Tech."

Isabella's practiced modest smile couldn't hide the gleam of triumph in her eyes as Gabriel continued, "Her concept of integrating AI personalization with traditional marketing touchpoints is exactly the fresh approach Stellar Tech needs."

My concept. My approach. My words coming from his mouth as he credited another woman.

Around the table, several junior associates exchanged uncomfortable glances. Chloe's eyes widened as she looked from me to Isabella, clearly recognizing the stolen work. But no one spoke up. No one challenged the narrative.

And as Isabella launched into a detailed explanation of my strategy—stumbling over technical terms I had meticulously researched—I realized with cold clarity that this betrayal went far deeper than a missed birthday dinner.