The walk home was a blur of city noise and unshed tears. Sharon felt stripped bare, every glance from a passerby feeling like a judgment on her foolishness.
She had marched into his world expecting… what? A welcome? A sign of his devastation? All she'd found was a perfectly functioning machine that no longer had a place for her.
The new assistant, Basil, wasn't just a replacement; he was an upgrade. A tech genius who had effortlessly solved the very problem she'd created to make herself indispensable.
She locked her apartment door behind her, leaning against it as the silence pressed in.
The unsigned contract from Nakamura Corp sat on her coffee table, its presence now feeling less like a temptation and more like an inevitability.
He doesn't need you.
The thought was a cold, hard stone in her gut.
Kenzo had proof of her sabotage and hadn't even confronted her. He'd just had it fixed. He'd moved on with a chilling efficiency.
All the light had gone out of his office, Leticia had said, but he was still running his empire. He was fine. He was more than fine. He was succeeding without her.
Sasha found her there hours later, still in her coat, staring into space.
"There you are! I've been calling. What happened? You look terrible," Sasha said, dropping her purse and coming to sit beside her.
The story tumbled out of Sharon in broken fragments, the new assistant, the discovered bug, Kenzo's infuriatingly polite detachment.
"He didn't even care, Sasha. He just… acknowledged it and moved on. He has someone else now."
"See?" Sasha's voice was firm, almost triumphant. "I told you. That's who he is. You were a tool to him, and when you broke, he got a new one. Stop tearing yourself apart over a man who sees people as appliances."
The words, so harsh and absolute, felt like the only solid ground in her swirling confusion. Anger was easier than heartbreak.
Indifference was a shield she desperately needed.
"Nakamura's offer…" Sharon whispered, her eyes drifting to the document.
"Is your future," Sasha finished, grabbing the contract and the pen from the table.
She pressed the pen into Sharon's hand. "This is you taking your power back. This is you showing Kenzo Hayashi that you are the prize, not some replaceable part. Sign it."
Her hand was trembling. This felt less like a choice and more like a surrender.
She was signing away the last, secret hope that things could ever go back to the way they were. She was choosing a path of outright war.
But what other path is left? she thought, the image of Basil's competent, unsmiling face flashing in her mind. He's already replaced you. This is all you have left.
She scrawled her name at the bottom of the page. The ink looked black and final.
"There," she said, her voice hollow. "It's done."
Sasha hugged her. "You won't regret this. I promise."
But as she pulled away, Sharon already felt a chill of regret. She had just agreed to work for the man who wanted to destroy the company she had helped build, for the CEO she had once loved.
The first day at Nakamura Corp was a strange, disorienting dream. Her new title, Vice President of Innovation, came with a corner office that was larger than Kenzo's.
It was all sleek lines and modest art, but it felt sterile, like a luxury hotel room, meant for temporary occupation, not for life.
Leo Nakamura was a demanding but enthusiastic boss. Her first official project was for their new flagship client, Goldlight Heavy Industries.
"They're old-school, tough negotiators," Leo said, slapping the file on her desk. "But their contract is massive. I need you to find an angle, something brilliant that Hayashi Tech couldn't offer them. I want their business, and I want Hayashi to feel the loss."
The mention of Kenzo's company was a jolt. This was no longer theoretical. She was being weaponized.
She buried herself in the work, trying to find solace in the logic of code and strategy. But her heart wasn't in it.
Every innovative idea she had felt like a betrayal, a piece of her old life being dismantled and repurposed for the enemy.
She ate lunch at her desk, avoiding the friendly overtures of her new team. The isolation was a cage of her own making.
On the evening, as she was packing up, her personal phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but she answered out of habit.
"Sharon-chan?"
The voice was warm, gentle, and lined with age. It was a sound from another world. Obaasan.
A wave of guilt so powerful it nearly buckled her knees washed over Sharon. She leaned heavily against her desk.
"Obaasan! Hello," she said, forcing cheer into her voice.
"I am sorry to bother you, my dear," the old woman said. "I was just thinking of you. Kenzo is so busy, he never tells me anything. I just wanted to hear your voice. How are things going with you and my grandson?"
The innocent question was a knife to the heart. She didn't know. Kenzo hadn't told his family about their split, about her leaving, about her betrayal. She was still, in Obaasan's mind, the future of the Hayashi family.
Sharon opened her mouth, but no sound came out. How could she tell this sweet, hopeful woman that she had left him and was now working for his greatest rival? That the "things" between them were broken beyond repair?
The silence stretched, thick with everything she couldn't say.