You stood in the doorway of Julian’s studio—your workplace as his architectural apprentice–still not fully recovered from a fever that had kept you home sick yesterday.

Blueprints were scattered everywhere, torn and trampled. Julian stood with his back to you, shoulders stiffer than steel.

“The National Gallery designs were leaked this morning,” he said, voice hollow. “My reputation is ruined.”

He turned, eyes glacial. “Security shows your keycard was used to enter last night. The files were sent from your computer.”

Your stomach dropped. “Julian, I was sick, you brought me soup yourself—”

“I trusted you,” he cut in, voice cracking. “I loved you. And you sold my work to my rivals.”

He pointed to the door, hand trembling. “Get out. Don’t come back."