ife in the shadows, away from Cole' s prying eyes, was cold but clear. I wa

e headline screamed from every tech blog. My heart, usually a steady drum, lurched. The accompanying image s

he articles gushed, "promising intuitive user interaction and unparalleled emotiona

embodiment of his vision, a way to keep his memory alive. I had shown Cole the initial prototypes, shared m

intricate architecture. He had seen the raw, bleeding love I pou

ostile takeover, after my father's heart gave out. "I'll take care of you, Emma," he'd promised, his arm around my shaking shoulders at the f

egacy, was Britney' s ticket to fame. A tool for her, for

Woodard Industries conference hall," I o

s. Up on the stage, Cole stood beside Britney, his arm around her, a proud, possessive smile on his face. She wore a shimmeri

me, but my rage propelled me. I dodged a burly arm, snatched a mic

cut through the applause like a knife. The sudden sile

hed. Britney' s eye

len masterpiece. It's my creation. Every line of code, every architectur

y's face had gone paper-white. She stumbled back, cl

red, stepping forward. "Securi

cket. "I have the original design documents, the early code, dated and timestamped. My father, Da

' s shoulder. "Cole, she's crazy! She alway

ngers crushing it in his fist. He raised his arm, and with a primal roar, smashed i

ever since her father's death. She' s obsessed with me, with Britney, projecting her own failures onto us!" He pulled Britney forward, as if t

like physical blo

e my father's company, you stole my work, you stole my life! You'll never ge

ir hands like iron clamps on my arms. I s

the reporters, his face a mask of false co

gged me backward, my heels scraping against the polished flo

Just a flicker of relief, a sense of having finally dealt with a nu

Britney, peeking out from behind Cole, a triumphant s

rational, as if discussing a broken machine. "Tell them she's

, the sterile smell. They strapped me down. My screams died in my throat, replaced by a cold, hard