A major project that Bryn had been overseeing from the start had hit a snag. It had been running smoothly up until now, but suddenly, the client wanted to cancel the partnership—something she hadn’t anticipated, let alone prepared for.

Francesca, the newly appointed director, was technically in charge of such high-profile projects, but for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, the client specifically demanded that Bryn take the reins. The decision was out of her hands; she had no choice but to step up.

After multiple tense meetings, the client pushed for a completely new design. To appease them, Bryn reluctantly agreed to start fresh. She put everything she had into the new proposal, hoping to win them over. But when she showed up with the revised design, eager for approval, she was met with scorn. The client accused her of plagiarism, even questioning her integrity in front of everyone.

It wasn’t until the client presented a proposal eerily similar to her own that Bryn realized the ugly truth. Francesca’s design wasn’t just similar—it was a carbon copy of hers.

Now, standing in the general manager’s office, Bryn was face-to-face with Francesca, both of them tense, ready for the confrontation. The general manager sat beside them, his face pale with unease. The room crackled with tension.

Plagiarism was a serious accusation in the design world, a stain that could ruin reputations and careers. The two proposals were so alike that it was impossible to determine who was at fault without triggering a corporate disaster. On one side stood Francesca, the rising star, freshly promoted to director and on the other was Bryn, with her connections to the CEO. Neither of them could be blamed outright without causing a major ripple in the company.

But Bryn wasn’t about to back down. She knew, without a doubt, that the design was her own creation. The late nights spent perfecting every detail were still fresh in her mind. And the way Francesca had deliberately kept her out of the office on that critical day was all the proof she needed.

Before Bryn could voice her frustration, Francesca’s voice cut through the silence, laced with mocking sweetness. “If you’re struggling to come up with a design, there’s no need to resort to copying. Why would you do something like that?”

Bryn’s pulse quickened, but she held her ground. “Do you have any proof that I copied, Miss Clements? Both proposals are nearly identical. Shouldn’t I be allowed to suspect that you copied mine?”

The air in the room was thick with anticipation as everyone braced for the fallout. The scene had escalated beyond anything they’d expected and the tension was palpable. In an instant, Alex entered the office, his presence commanding the room. The staff quickly scattered, returning to their seats with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Alex’s gaze swept the room, landing on Bryn. She stood tall, unshaken, but her heart was in turmoil. Slowly, he spoke, his tone smooth, almost too smooth.

“Miss Clements is an overseas talent. Highly skilled, both professionally and in business. I’m sure this plagiarism thing is just a coincidence.”

His words were light, as though brushing aside the matter, but to Bryn, they felt like a slap. What he was really saying was that Francesca didn’t need to copy her work—she was good enough on her own.

But anyone with half a brain knew that two identical proposals weren’t a mere coincidence. If Francesca hadn’t plagiarized, then the only other explanation was that Bryn had been accused of doing so—and that accusation hung in the air like a suffocating cloud.

Bryn, standing there under the weight of the room’s scrutiny, felt the heat rise in her chest, as though the very air was pressing in on her. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. All the words she’d been longing to say to Francesca, all the bitterness and hurt that had been building up inside of her, were trapped in her throat, refusing to come out. She could care less if everyone else didn’t believe her. But what truly stung, what cut deeper than any insult, was that Alex—who knew how hard she’d worked on this project, who knew her dedication—wouldn’t stand up for her. His silence was louder than any accusation.

Everyone in the room had heard Alex’s words and whispers began to spread. Bryn squeezed her palm tightly, trying to control the emotions that threatened to spill over. She forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes and spoke to Alex.

“Since Mr. Sinclair says it was a coincidence, then I suppose it is.” She made her way toward the door, each step heavier than the last. Her back was so bent with the weight of the moment, it seemed as though she were a wilting flower, about to crumble.

Though Alex had forbidden anyone from discussing the plagiarism again, the rumors spread like wildfire. Bryn could feel them curling around her, tightening with every passing hour.

“Bryn, are you okay?” Nora caught up to her, her eyes full of concern.

Bryn forced a wave of her hand, a weak gesture that she hoped would signal to Lana not to worry. She couldn’t afford to break down—not now. Not with only three days before her brother’s surgery. But deep inside, she felt like she was crumbling under the weight of it all.

But the pain lingered, sharper than she expected. She couldn’t help but ask herself. Was it only me who had given so much over these past three years?

Her thoughts drifted back to Francesca’s face—the same face she’d once seen as a mirror to her own, only now it seemed like a cruel reflection, a reminder of everything she had failed to be. A cold wave of realization washed over her. It seemed so inevitable now—she had always been nothing more than Francesca’s substitute. From the very beginning, Alex had never truly loved her. It had all been a fantasy, a fleeting illusion.

She shouldn’t have expected more.

Bryn lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around her phone as she stared at a photo of her and Alex together. Maybe it’s time to leave.

These three years—perhaps she could just consider them a dream. And now, it was time to wake up.

The sound of high heels approaching interrupted her thoughts. Francesca, walking with the unmistakable air of someone who believed she had won, made her way over to Bryn.

“Bryn,” she said, her voice dripping with a satisfaction that made Bryn’s stomach churn. “Don’t mind what Alex said. Maybe it really was just a coincidence.”

Bryn forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it might crack at any moment. Her throat was tight, a lump lodged there that she couldn’t swallow.

The door opened and Alex stepped in, his eyes immediately seeking out Bryn. When he saw the pallor of her face, a flicker of concern passed through his eyes. But just as he was about to ask if she wanted to grab a bite, Francesca stepped in between them, her arm linking with his as she flashed Bryn a look that could only be described as victorious.

“I’m hungry,” she purred, her tone playful, as though marking her territory.

Her voice felt like a blade to Bryn’s heart, cold and sharp, cutting into the raw wound that was already festering. Francesca then turned, pushing Alex toward the door, but not before pausing to glance back at Bryn, her smile as cold as the steel she was made of.

“Bryn,” she said, her voice all too sweet, “Would you like to join us?”

Bryn shook her head, her refusal coming out almost through clenched teeth. “No, thanks.”

Her voice was barely audible, fragile, as though it might break apart in the air at any second.

As the door shut, the office was left in a quiet emptiness, mirroring the hollowness in her heart.

Bryn took a deep breath, trying to steady the trembling of her body. She wiped away the tears, grabbed the file on the desk, but her mind kept drifting back to the past.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting patterned shadows across the floor. She could almost see that gentle Alex again—he used to wait for her every evening after work. He would look at her lovingly, with a slight smile on his lips. But ever since Francesca came back, everything had changed. Those moments that once filled her with sweetness now felt like knives, carving into her heart.

It turned out it had all been an illusion—his tenderness was never truly meant for her; it had always belonged to another woman. Bryn let out a bitter laugh as tears traced down her cheeks. She brushed them away in a swift motion, taking a deep breath to swallow the emotions welling up inside her. She couldn’t keep holding on to this any longer. It was time to let go.

As the night deepened, the office lights slowly dimmed and city lights began to glow in the distance. Finally, Bryn dragged her weary body out of the building. When she arrived back at the villa, she noticed the soft glow coming from the study. Alex was home.

On the dining table sat a neatly wrapped box from her favorite dessert shop—their signature cake she loved so much. Her heart gave a slight flutter. Had he remembered? But that brief moment of joy quickly dissolved as she noticed a new post on Francesca’s social media. It was a photo of the same cake, captioned, “I’m so happy. Someone remembered my favorite cake.” In the background of the picture, she could spot a familiar watch—Alex’s, the one she had given him as a birthday gift.

She remembered the day she gave it to him. He had smiled, beaming with joy and said, “From now on, you’ll spend every birthday with me.” How ironic those words seemed now. It wasn’t just their looks that she and Francesca shared; they apparently shared tastes too. Bryn stared at the cake on the table, feeling a wave of nausea rise within her.

The cake, she realized, was likely something he’d picked up while out with Francesca. She could almost picture it—Francesca teasing him playfully while Alex gazed at her with the warmth she’d once thought was hers.

Everything she had believed belonged to her was in reality shared with Francesca. She turned, her steps heavy and made her way upstairs, pausing outside the study. She raised her hand and knocked.

“Come in,” his deep voice responded from inside.