Clutching my seven-week ultrasound backstage, I watched Julian credit my entire Nexus AI architecture to his socialite ex-girlfriend, Maya. Before the global press, he crowned her as his co-creator and muse. Instead of confronting him, I logged into the system and found a PR memo bearing Julian's signature, explicitly ordering the erasure of my influence. I immediately clicked decline renewal on my core patent license. This irreversible choice meant personally destroying the startup I had built over six years, burying the last illusion of our relationship forever. Stepping into the night, I entered a black Maybach sent by his fiercest rival, Victor Thorne. When the midnight server shutdown strikes, how much of Julian's fragile empire will survive my absolute departure?