Chapter 1

Ethan changed the passcode of our $10 million dream penthouse to his female assistant's birthday.

It happened to be the exact day of our seventh anniversary.

When the door clicked open from the inside, Chloe Miller was wearing my signature silk robe, holding the custom-designed wedding bands I had spent a month sourcing.

Panic flashed across her face as she scrambled to hide the rings behind her back.

"Summer, please don't get the wrong idea. I was just helping Ethan check the size."

Ethan walked out of the bathroom, his hair still damp, his forehead immediately creasing into a deep frown.

"Why are you here unannounced?" His voice carried a sharp edge of annoyance.

I looked at the faint, fresh hickey on his neck. My heart sank straight to the bottom of my chest.

"This is my apartment. Since when do I need permission to come here?" I shot back.

"Can you stop being so dramatic?" Ethan sighed, acting as if nothing was wrong.

"Chloe’s apartment flooded, and she had nowhere else to go in the middle of the night. I just let her crashed here for a few days. What’s the big deal?"

A $10 million penthouse. I hadn't even spent a single night in it, yet he gave it to his assistant.

He had even effortlessly changed the passcode to her birthday.

I picked up the heavy fabric shears from the coffee table and walked over to the haute couture wedding dress hanging in the corner—a dress I had designed myself and spent six months hand-sewing.

"Summer! What the hell are you doing?!" Ethan yelled.

With a swift, cold slash, I cut the shears straight through the center of the gown’s delicate train.

"Since the man is trash, there's no point in keeping the dress. This wedding is off."

"Summer, have you completely lost your mind?"

Ethan grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight.

"It's just a dress! Do you really have to throw a hysterical fit over this?"

"She's right, Summer," Chloe chimed in from the side, looking like a frightened puppy.

"Ethan has been pulling all-nighters to get the company listed on the stock market. You shouldn't stress him out like this."

I turned my gaze to Chloe.

Her face was young, plump with collagen, radiating a calculated aura of innocent vulnerability.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" I said coldly.

Chloe's eyes welled with tears instantly, and she shrank back behind Ethan.

Ethan immediately shielded her, glaring at me.

"Summer, when did you become such a bitter, crazy psycho?"

A crazy psycho.

I had spent five years helping him build his startup from scratch.

To save him design fees, I pulled all-nighters drawing blueprints until my stomach bled.

To secure venture capital for him, I drank myself into alcohol poisoning at investor dinners.

Now that he was at the top, I was nothing but a "crazy psycho" in his eyes.

I violently shook off his grip.

"Ethan, we're done."

With that, I turned around and walked out.

"Summer! If you walk out of this door today, don't you dare think about coming back!" Ethan roared behind me.

I didn't look back. Even a second of hesitation would be an insult to the seven years of my youth I had wasted on him.

When I reached the lobby, the cold night wind cleared my head instantly.

I pulled out my phone and opened WhatsApp.

On paper, I was the Chief Creative Officer of Ethan's firm, but to keep a low profile, I had always used the alias "S."

Except for Ethan and a few founding partners, no one in the company knew S was actually me.

I immediately left the main company group chat.

Then, I logged into the cloud server and encrypted every single core design file I had ever created, locking them down completely.

After finishing all this, I hailed an Uber and went back to my own studio apartment.

The moment I stepped inside, my phone started buzzing.

It was a Snapchat message from Chloe.

Summer, I'm so, so sorry. I really didn't know the passcode was my birthday.

Ethan just thinks I'm clumsy and can't remember complex numbers, so he changed it to make things easier for me.

Please don't be mad at him because of me. I'll pack my bags and move out tomorrow.

I could smell the rancid scent of her victim-playing right through the screen.

I took a screenshot of her message and posted it directly to Instagram.

The caption read: "A homewrecker who loves playing the victim. If you like picking up trash, just say so. Stop acting so pathetic."

After posting it, I blocked both of their numbers.

Time to sleep.