Chapter 2

I stumbled into my home studio like a sleepwalker, my mind still reeling from James's casual betrayal. The stained drafts of my sustainable housing project lay scattered on my desk where I'd dropped them, a physical reminder of his treachery. My fingers trembled as I switched on my computer, needing to understand the full extent of what he'd done.

The blue light of the monitor cast harsh shadows across my face as I logged into our shared cloud storage. Five years together had created a web of intertwined professional lives – shared accounts, merged folders, collaborative projects. I navigated to my project directory, the one containing months of my blood, sweat, and innovation.

"Let's see exactly what you've been doing, James," I whispered, opening the version history.

There it was. A pattern of weekend logins when I'd been visiting my mother upstate. Timestamps showing revisions I never made. Each tagged with James's credentials, each altering my work in subtle ways that maintained the core brilliance while adding his academic fingerprints.

I clicked through file after file, my chest tightening with each discovery. The final revision had been made three weeks ago – the same weekend James had claimed he needed to stay home to finish grading papers.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, comparing my local files to the cloud version. The differences were surgical – my revolutionary structural support system remained intact, but with annotations in James's distinctive style. Notes that would make it appear he had guided the development, that this was a collaborative effort at best, his brainchild at worst.

I pushed away from my desk, suddenly unable to breathe. The walls of my studio – once my sanctuary – felt like they were closing in. I needed air. I needed someone who would believe me.

The downtown café was buzzing with evening patrons when I arrived. Chloe was already there, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun, two glasses of wine waiting at our usual corner table. Her smile faded as she took in my appearance.

"Jesus, Sophia, you look like hell," she said, pushing a glass toward me as I slumped into the chair.

"He stole my work, Chloe," I said without preamble. "James gave my sustainable housing project to Madison Parker."

Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "Madison? His graduate student? The one with the Instagram following?"

I nodded, taking a long sip of wine. "The same. He's been systematically copying my files, making minor revisions, and now he's passing them off as hers. She's getting the AIA mentorship that was meant for me."

I watched Chloe's face, waiting for the outrage, the solidarity. Instead, I saw hesitation flicker in her eyes.

"That's... a serious accusation, Soph," she said carefully. "James Crawford has an impeccable reputation in the department. Everyone respects him."

"I have proof," I insisted, pulling out my tablet to show her the version history. "Look at these timestamps. These are weekend revisions I never made."

Chloe glanced at the screen, but I could tell she wasn't fully convinced. "Maybe there's some explanation? Could it be a collaborative thing you forgot about?"

Her doubt cut deeper than I expected. "You think I'm making this up?"

"No! I just—" She sighed, reaching for my hand. "It's hard to believe someone like James would risk everything for something like this. He has tenure, respect..."

"And a girlfriend whose work he's been stealing for years," I finished bitterly.

The conversation deteriorated from there. By the time I left the café, I felt more alone than ever. Even my closest friend couldn't – or wouldn't – see the truth.

The next morning, I dragged myself to the firm, eyes burning from a sleepless night. I was arranging my drafts when a gentle knock at my door broke my concentration.

Ryan Torres stood in the doorway, two coffee cups in hand. "Double-espresso cappuccino, extra foam, cinnamon on top," he said, placing one on my desk.

"How did you know that's exactly what I needed?" I asked, wrapping my hands around the warm cup.

He shrugged, his dark eyes studying me with quiet concern. "You always order it when you're stressed. And judging by how your hands are trembling, I'd say today qualifies."

I hadn't realized my hands were shaking until he mentioned it. I set the cup down, embarrassed.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Ryan asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I noticed you were reviewing cloud storage logs yesterday."

I hesitated. After Chloe's reaction, I was wary of more disbelief. But something in Ryan's steady gaze made me take a chance.

"I think someone's been accessing my files," I said carefully. "Making changes I never authorized."

Ryan's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. "Show me," he said simply.

And for the first time since discovering James's betrayal, I felt a flicker of hope that someone might actually help me fight back.