For the seventh time, Julian publicly credited my core AI module to his new PR director, Chloe. He texted me to not be petty for the sake of the company, while Chloe openly flaunted the custom Apex Capital keyboard—a gift specifically meant for the company's sole technical backbone. I stopped arguing. I inserted my private key drive, initiated a countdown withdrawal program to lock the algorithm, and quietly packed my bags. Walking away meant forever shattering the pure illusion of our three-year startup journey, leaving me physically defensive against ever trusting an intimate relationship again. As I stepped into the black sedan to reclaim my true identity as the Apex Capital heiress, Julian had no idea his servers were about to flash red, nor whose desk he would soon have to beg at for his desperate funding.