When Yvette smiled, her eyes lit up like crescent moons, a look that effortlessly won people's affection.

But in them, I detected a hint of smugness and calculation.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"23," she replied.

"Then you’re old enough to know what honesty is," I said sharply.

Her smile wavered. "I don't understand what you mean."

"It's clear. The whole plan was done by me, from start to finish," I said. "You knew that, yet you still presented it as your own. It's called shameless."

Her face flushed, but she quickly hid her discomfort. "You're being unfair. I was just following Elliot's instructions."

She stormed out, but I knew this wasn’t over.

Sure enough, Elliot confronted me in the afternoon. "What's with you? Why did you talk to Yvette like that?"

I set my pen down, meeting his gaze calmly. "What did I say?"

"You called her shameless and accused her of stealing your plan. She's just a fresh graduate. How could you humiliate her?" he sulked.

I couldn't help but laugh, but there was no warmth in it.

"She's humiliated?" I scoffed. "What about me? Who cares about how I feel?"

Elliot froze, surprised by my sarcastic tone.

"Grow up and be more tolerant. Yvette didn't mean any harm."

"Didn't she? Then why did she claim my plan as her idea?"

"She’s not great at presenting. Maybe she phrased it wrong."

No matter what I said, he defended her. His bias cut deeper than I’d expected.

"Do you have a crush on her?" I blurted out.

My blunt question ignited his anger. He snapped, "What nonsense are you talking about? She is my employee!"

"An employee needs you to defend her like this? Who gets to use my studio and take credit for my work?" I countered.

Elliot pressed his lips into a thin line, unable to come up with a response.

Finally, he managed, "You're being extreme."

Then he stormed out of my office.

...

The next day, I found several critical files deleted from my computer, and the Recycle Bin emptied. These were proposals for major clients, each one taking great chunks of my time and energy.

Worse, one of them was the entry I'd prepared for the International Advertising Festival. That award meant a lot to me.

I immediately went to the IT department for help in recovering the files.

After checking, a technician told me the files had been deleted manually at around 11 PM the previous night.

I had already been home by then. Only the security guards and some employees working late would have been in the office.

I pulled up the surveillance footage and saw that Yvette had stayed late in the office. She had even entered my office.

When I told Elliot about this discovery, his response crushed me.

"Maybe she was studying your work and deleted them by mistake," he said. "Don't jump to conclusions."

"By mistake?" I retorted. "The Recycle Bin was cleared. Does that look like an accident to you?"

"Maybe she was just trying to help you clear out some unnecessary files," he stammered.

The ferocious way he defended Yvette made me feel like an outsider in their relationship.

"Fine, let's say it was an accident," I sighed. "Why didn't she tell me? Why hide it?"

"Maybe she was afraid you'd blame her," Elliot mumbled.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Last question, Elliot. If you had to choose between me and Yvette, who would it be?"

He froze, unprepared for the ultimatum.

Snapping back to reality, he growled.

"Why are you making me choose? You're both important to me," he sulked.

"Answer me!" I pressed.

His eyes flickered with hesitation. Then he spoke firmly. "I won't fire Yvette. She's young and promising. A few misunderstandings shouldn't ruin her future."

His words pierced my heart. It turned out that I meant less to him than an intern he'd known for weeks.

"I get it." I turned and left his office without hesitation.

That evening, I contacted my lawyer friend. "John, help me prepare a divorce agreement."

John Dupont was surprised. "Are you serious? You and Elliot seemed solid."

"Just prepare it. I need the agreement in three days."

"Alright, but you need to think it through. You still have the company shares to sort out."

"I know. I'll give up all my shares, but there's one condition."

"What condition?"

"The copyrights to all my creative works and proposals from the past five years. I'll take them back."

John gasped, "These are core assets."

"They're my creations. I'm taking back what's mine."

In the following days, I quietly gathered evidence to prove that those creative proposals were my original works.

I dug up all the drafts I'd created, organized the evolution of the design ideas, and even found testimonies from clients who initially chose to cooperate with Kline Creative because of my creativity.

I also contacted talented designers to join my new studio.

Yvette caught some traces and began badmouthing me in front of Elliot, claiming I was negative and hostile, dragging down her morale.

Elliot believed her and called me in for a talk, saying that my recent performance had disappointed him.

"Yvette says you've been very unkind to her," he started. "It's hurting the team."

I sat across from him, calmly looking at him. "What else did she say?"

"That you've been assigning her unreasonable tasks and belittling her abilities in front of everyone."

I couldn't help but laugh. Yvette was a master at twisting the truth.

"Do you believe her?" I asked.

Elliot avoided my gaze and muttered weakly, "I just hope you two can get along. We're a team here."

"Got it." I stood up to leave.

He stopped me. "Are you mad at me?"

I turned, a pang in my chest. "No, I'm fine."

"Good. I thought you were upset."

I left without another word.

That afternoon, John sent the divorce agreement draft. I reviewed it, found it solid, and decided to confront Elliot that night.

When I got home, he was busy in the kitchen.

In a good mood, he said, "You're back early today."

"I need to talk to you about something," I said.

He brought out a plate of food he'd just made. A big smile was on his face. "What's so mysterious?"

I took the divorce agreement out of my briefcase and placed it on the dining table.

When Elliot saw its cover, the plate nearly slipped from his hand.

"What is this?" His voice trembled, and his face turned pale.

"I don't see a future for us," I said. "Let's divorce."