Betrayal doesn't always sneak up on you. Sometimes it comes from the ones you trust most.
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The ballroom sparkles with light from a giant chandelier.
It's fancy, elegant, and full of people dressed to impress.
I glance around, taking in the scene.
Laughter fills the room.
Glasses clink.
People chat and smile.
This is Damien's crowd, all here to celebrate his big win.
I touch the necklace around my neck—a gift from Damien for my 25th birthday.
It feels heavier tonight.
Maybe it's the weight of everything we've built together.
Our dream.
Well, mostly Damien's dream. But I gave my heart to it, too.
Late nights.
Endless meetings.
So many sacrifices.
Now, here we are at the top.
I catch my reflection in a nearby mirror.
A midnight blue dress.
Perfect hair.
Flawless makeup.
I smooth my dress, feeling the silk against my fingers.
It's couture, bought with the last of my trust fund—the part I didn't invest in Damien's company.
Funny how money disappears when you're chasing someone else's dreams.
Damien didn't ask me to invest.
He didn't have to.
I believed in him.
In us.
Across the room, two women whisper to each other.
"New money never understands old money values," one says with a smug look.
I grip my champagne glass tighter and take a deep breath.
The irony isn't lost on me.
I gave up my old money life to help Damien build his new money empire.
"She's just a trophy girlfriend," the other woman adds.
The sting is real. But they don't know the truth.
The $50 million that started BlackTech?
That was my money. Not Damien's.
I sip my champagne, letting the bubbles tickle my throat.
My eyes scan the crowd, but my mind drifts back to the beginning.
To when I first met Damien Blackwood.
*****
"Next up, Blackwood Innovations," the announcer said.
Damien walked on stage, full of confidence.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Picture a world where machines think, learn, and adapt like humans. That's Blacktech."
I leaned forward, intrigued.
But when he finished, the applause was polite at best.
Investors exchanged skeptical looks.
"Too risky," someone whispered.
"Too ambitious," another added.
That night, I found Damien in a quiet diner, staring at a cold cup of coffee.
I hesitated, then walked over.
"Mind if I sit?"
He looked up, surprised.
"Isabella Rossi, right? From Hart Enterprises?"
I nodded and slid into the booth.
"Your presentation was brilliant."
He gave a soft, bitter laugh.
"Brilliant doesn't pay the bills. Investors want safe bets. I'm not one of them."
His hands shook slightly as he stirred his coffee.
Gone was the confident speaker.
In front of me was a man who looked lost.
"Why that field?" I asked.
He stared at his coffee for a moment.
"It's all I've ever wanted—to build something world-changing. But no one believes in me."
His honesty hit me hard.
For the first time, I saw the dreamer behind the charm.
"Maybe they're just blind," I said. "I see it. I think you're going to change everything."
His eyes met mine.
"You really believe that?"
"I do."
And that's how it started—with late-night coffee and whispered dreams in a diner.
****
Applause fills the ballroom, pulling me back to the present.
Damien steps onto the stage, smiling under the sparkling lights.
"Tonight, we celebrate BlackTech's IPO. It's a dream we worked so hard to make real."
I stand at the edge of the crowd, feeling proud.
But something feels off, like a quiet warning in the back of my mind.
Then I see her.
Celeste Morgan.
Damien's new VP of Operations.
She stands near the stage, laughing softly.
But it's not her laugh that gets me.
It's the ring on her finger.
A sapphire surrounded by platinum.
My grandmother's ring.
The same ring I sold to pay for BlackTech's first office.
My chest tightens. The room spins.
That ring was supposed to be part of our future.
Now it's on her hand.
I grip my glass, the cold biting into my fingers.
Damien keeps talking, but his voice fades.
Memories flood in.
****
I stood in a gallery, signing papers to sell my art collection.
Priceless pieces from my family's walls, now packed and shipped away.
Each signature felt like I was losing a piece of myself.
But I told myself it was worth it.
For him.
My father's angry voice echoes in my mind.
"You're throwing away our family's legacy!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk.
"On a man who'll leave you with nothing!"
I stood firm, even as his words cut deep.
"He's building something amazing, Dad. You'll see."
Then there were the endless nights.
Sitting in Damien's tiny apartment, surrounded by papers and empty coffee cups.
I rewrote pitch decks, tweaked his arguments, and helped him practice.
All while smiling at charity events, pretending I wasn't holding up his dream on my shoulders.
"Damien, hit them with the numbers first," I'd say, even when I was exhausted.
"They need to see returns before they care about your vision."
He'd give me that grateful smile—the one that made every sacrifice feel worth it.
I believed in him so much, I stopped believing in myself.
Damien's voice echoes in the ballroom.
"Before we move forward, I want to recognize someone special."
I blink, surprised, as the crowd turns to me.
I freeze, caught between pride and confusion.
Slowly, I set my glass down and walk to the stage.
Damien meets me halfway, taking my hand.
"Ms. Isabella Rossi," he announces. "She stood by me when no one else did."
I smile, my heart lifting.
Maybe this is my moment.
Maybe I was worried for nothing.
Then his tone shifts.
"But to grow, we must make hard choices. We need to leave behind what holds us back."
His words cut through me.
"What?" I whisper into the mic. "What are you saying, Damien?"
The crowd murmurs, tension thick.
Damien avoids my eyes.
"We built something great together, Isabella, but I need to focus on the future."
Before I can respond, Celeste steps forward.
Her hand slides into Damien's like she's done it a hundred times.