Chapter 2

Mark was clearly shocked I didn't rise to the sonogram bait.

He didn't call again for a few days. Chloe' s Instagram, however, went into overdrive.

Pictures of her and Mark at Zilker Park, "candid" shots of him looking thoughtfully at the Austin skyline (presumably pondering his next brilliant move), even a Boomerang of them clinking champagne glasses, captioned "To new beginnings!"

It was all so transparent, so desperate. I scrolled past them without a second thought, focusing on my work at Vanguard.

The environment was a breath of fresh air. My ideas were not just heard, but celebrated. Jess was a true leader, fostering collaboration, not competition.

The condo sale was dragging. Mark, through his lawyer, was being deliberately obtuse, questioning every clause, demanding unnecessary paperwork.

My lawyer, Eleanor, was patient but firm. "He's trying to retain control, Sarah. It's a common tactic."

"I just want it over with," I told her.

Finally, Eleanor strong-armed him into signing the last of the sale documents by setting a hard deadline and threatening legal action to compel the sale. The buyers were eager, a young couple thrilled to get a downtown condo.

The day the sale closed, a weight lifted from my shoulders. I' d already moved into a small, sunny rental in South Austin, a place that was mine alone.

I was unpacking the last box, humming along to some indie band on the radio, when my phone rang. An unknown number.

"Sarah?" It was Mark. His voice was rough.

"How did you get this number?" I asked, my tone flat.

"Doesn't matter. I... I need to see you."

"There's nothing to discuss, Mark. The condo is sold. We're done."

"No, it's not about the condo. It's... I made a mistake, Sarah. A huge one."

He sounded genuinely distressed. The old Sarah might have softened. The new Sarah was wary.

"Chloe... she's not who I thought she was."

A bitter laugh almost escaped me.

"I'm not interested in your relationship drama, Mark."

"Please, Sarah. Just meet me. Coffee? For old times' sake?" That phrase again.

I thought about it. Maybe one last, definitive conversation would finally get him out of my head for good.

"Fine. Tomorrow. Mozart's. Ten AM. And Mark? This is the last time."

"Thank you, Sarah. You won't regret it."

He was already there when I arrived, sitting at an outdoor table overlooking Lake Austin. He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, his usually sharp suit rumpled.

"Thanks for coming," he said, standing up.

"What is it, Mark?"

He launched into a rambling monologue. How Chloe had become demanding, how she was obsessed with status, how the agency was struggling without my creative input.

"She's just... shallow, Sarah. Not like you. You always understood what was important."

He reached across the table, trying to take my hand. I pulled it back.

"I miss what we had," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I was an idiot. I know that now. I was lost, and she… she took advantage."

Chloe got on the phone then. He must have put me on speaker.

Her voice, dripping with false sincerity. "Sarah, it's Chloe. I just want you to know, if Mark wants you back, I'll step aside. I'll resign from Momentum. His happiness is all that matters to me."

The sheer, unadulterated nerve of it.

I looked at Mark, his eyes pleading.

"You want to reconcile, Mark?" I asked, my voice cold and clear.

He nodded eagerly. "More than anything."

"Alright," I said. "Here are my terms. You sign over fifty percent of Momentum Marketing – the company, all its assets, intellectual property, everything – to me. Legally, irrevocably. Then we can talk about reconciliation."

His jaw dropped. Chloe gasped audibly on the phone.

"Fifty percent?" he stammered. "Sarah, that's..."

"That's my price for even considering it," I said. "You built Momentum on my talent, my ideas, my sacrifices. You took that, and me, for granted. If you're serious about 'atonement,' that's the starting point."

Chloe started wailing. "Mark, she's trying to destroy you! Don't listen to her!"

"Think about it, Mark," I said, standing up. "You have twenty-four hours."

I walked away, leaving him sputtering at the table, Chloe' s hysterics buzzing from his phone.

The twenty-four hours passed. No call from Mark. I wasn't surprised.

I was at Vanguard, presenting a new campaign strategy to a major tech client. The meeting was electric. My ideas were flowing, the clients were engaged. We nailed it.

Jess gave me a high-five as we walked out. "You're on fire, Miller!"

That night, celebrating with the Vanguard team, my phone buzzed. It was a restricted number.

I answered cautiously.

"Sarah? It's... it's the bartender at The Driskill." The voice was hushed, urgent. "Mr. Olsen, Mark Olsen? He's here, very intoxicated. He's making a scene, saying you're his emergency contact. He' s... he' s threatening to harm himself if you don't come get him."

My blood ran cold. Mark had pulled manipulative stunts before, but this sounded different, dangerous.

Suicide threats were not a joke.

But I also knew Mark.

"Thank you for calling," I said, my mind racing. "I'll handle it."

I hung up and immediately dialed 911.

"I need a wellness check," I told the dispatcher, giving The Driskill's address and Mark's name. "A friend is intoxicated and making suicidal threats."

I didn't go. I wouldn't be drawn into his drama, not directly. But I couldn't live with myself if he actually did something and I'd ignored it.

About an hour later, a text from an unknown number, presumably Mark using someone else's phone: "You called the COPS on me? How could you humiliate me like that, Sarah? I just needed you!"

Followed by a string of angry emojis.

I deleted the message. Humiliation? He was lucky he got help instead of a DUI or worse.

A week passed. I threw myself into work, trying to forget Mark' s latest meltdown.

Then, another call. Mark, his voice genuinely distressed, panicked.

"Sarah, thank God. The pipes burst in the old condo. It's a disaster. Water everywhere. I know I bought it back from you after the sale, but you designed the remodel, you know all the systems, where the main shut-off is. I can' t find it. Can you please, please just come look? I' m freaking out here. It' s going to flood the downstairs neighbors."

He sounded truly desperate, maybe even a little suicidal again. The image of water damage, the responsibility I once felt for that place…

Against my better judgment, a lingering, stupid sense of responsibility, I said, "Okay, Mark. I'll come. But just to find the shut-off. Then I'm leaving."

"Thank you, Sarah. Thank you. I'm at the condo now."

I drove over, a knot of unease in my stomach.

The door was ajar. I pushed it open. "Mark?"

The condo was dim, curtains drawn. No sound of gushing water. No visible damage.

"Mark, where's the leak?"

He stepped out from the kitchen, looking sheepish. "Uh, false alarm. I think I found the main valve. It was just a small drip from the faucet, I overreacted."

I stared at him. "You dragged me over here for a dripping faucet?"

"Well, now that you're here..." He gestured towards his computer on the old desk we used to share. "I was also having some trouble with the new client database, the one you set up. Could you just..."

Something felt incredibly wrong. The air was too still, his demeanor too shifty.

Hidden cameras. The thought flashed through my mind.

"No, Mark," I said, backing towards the door. "I'm not your IT support. And I'm not staying."

His face hardened. "Sarah, don't be difficult."

Too late. I was already out the door, my heart pounding.

What was he playing at?

Two days later, I found out.

A courier delivered a thick legal envelope to me at Vanguard.

"Sarah Miller," Jess said, walking into my office, her face grim. "You need to see this. It's all over AdWeek Austin online."

She handed me her tablet.

The headline screamed: "Momentum Marketing Sues Former CCO Sarah Miller for Corporate Espionage, IP Theft."

Below it, a grainy video clip. Me, in the old condo, near Mark' s computer. Edited, of course, to make it look like I was accessing his files, stealing data.

The article detailed how Momentum had "discovered" a massive data breach shortly after my "acrimonious departure." Sensitive client data, key campaign strategies – all allegedly stolen. And sold to a shady, unnamed competitor.

The "burst pipe" was a ruse. The cameras were real. Chloe and Mark had set me up.

My stomach churned. Vanguard Solutions was mentioned too, as my new employer, implying they might be complicit.

"They're trying to ruin you," Jess said, her voice tight with anger. "And us."

The comments section was a cesspool of accusations and vitriol. Sarah Miller, the vindictive ex, the corporate thief.

My career, my reputation, torched in a day.

The lawsuit was real. I was being sued for millions.

The civil trial was a media circus, live-streamed due to the "Austin Ad Game" scandal, as the blogs called it.

Mark's lawyer, a slick shark named Peterson, presented the edited video. He painted me as a scorned woman seeking revenge, joining a competitor to destroy her former fiancé' s company. He paraded "experts" who testified about the "stolen" data.

Chloe, dressed in demure pastels, testified with tears in her eyes about how she "discovered" the breach, how "devastated" Mark was by Sarah's betrayal.

It was a convincing performance. Public opinion was firmly against me.

Then it was our turn.

Jess had hired the best defense attorney in Texas, a woman named Lena Hanson who ate sharks like Peterson for breakfast.

Lena calmly dismantled their case, piece by piece.

First, the unedited security footage from the condo. It showed Mark directing me towards the computer, showed the full context of my actions, clearly looking for a non-existent water shut-off he' d claimed was hidden behind the desk.

Second, financial records. Lena' s investigators had traced a series of large, anonymous payments from the "shady competitor" – a shell corporation – directly to an offshore account. An account linked to Chloe Vance.

The courtroom buzzed.

And then, the ace.

"Your Honor," Lena said, "the defense would like to play an audio recording."

Jess, bless her suspicious heart, had advised me weeks ago, after the sonogram incident, to record all interactions with Mark if I couldn't avoid them. I' d recorded his frantic "burst pipe" call.

But this wasn't that recording. This was something Jess' s own tech team at Vanguard had… acquired. Legally, Lena assured the court, through a whistleblower at Momentum.

The audio was crystal clear. Mark and Chloe, in Mark' s office at Momentum, days before the "burst pipe."

Chloe: "The data is transferred. They' re wiring the first payment to the Cayman account tomorrow."

Mark: "Good. And you' re sure this video setup at the condo will work? We need to make it look like Sarah was there, looking at my computer."

Chloe: "Don' t worry, baby. She' ll walk right into it. Especially if you sound desperate enough. She still has a soft spot for you, you know. And once she' s framed, I' m safe. The company is safe. And… Mark?" Her voice softened, became coy. "I missed my period. I think… I think I might be pregnant."

Mark, after a pause: "Pregnant? Well. That changes things. We definitely need to make sure this plan works. For the baby. For us."

The courtroom was in stunned silence.

Chloe, on the witness stand, turned pale. "That's fake! It's a lie! They faked it!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet.

Mark sat at the plaintiff's table, his face ashen, utterly broken.

He stood up slowly.

"Your Honor," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The recording… it's authentic. I… I did it. I helped set her up."

Then, his eyes fixed on Chloe, a strange, terrifying light in them.

He lunged.

Not with a weapon, but with his bare hands, a savage, guttural roar tearing from his throat.

He grabbed Chloe by the hair, slamming her head against the witness stand railing. "You! You ruined everything! You bitch!"

Court officers surged forward, tackling him. Chloe slumped to the floor, blood blooming on her temple.

Mark, pinned, screaming, fumbled in his pocket, brought out a handful of pills, and tried to cram them into his mouth.