The next morning, Sophie arrived at the firm carrying Nathan’s coffee.

Not hers.

His.

She placed it beside her laptop and smiled when she saw me.

—Vera, about yesterday—

—I need your access card.

Her smile vanished.

—What?

—You’re no longer assigned to the Morrison case.

She laughed nervously.

—You were serious?

—Completely.

I handed her the reassignment notice.

For months, Sophie had introduced herself to clients as an essential member of my litigation team.

The truth was less flattering.

I had corrected her briefs.

Rebuilt her arguments.

Stayed late repairing her research.

And whenever a partner praised the final work, I let Sophie share the credit.

She had been my best friend.

I thought helping her rise was loyalty.

Apparently, she thought it was entitlement.

Nathan appeared before lunch.

He walked directly into my office.

—Put Sophie back on the case.

I looked up.

—Excuse me?

—You’re punishing her because you’re jealous.

—No.

I closed the file.

—I’m removing someone whose work requires constant correction.

His expression hardened.

—That’s not what you’ve said before.

—Because before, I protected her.

The door opened.

Sophie stood there with red eyes.

—Nathan, don’t.

Perfect timing.

He immediately turned toward her.

That tiny movement told me everything.

Sophie whispered:

—If Vera wants to destroy my career because of us, let her.

Us.

There it was.

Nathan froze.

I leaned back.

—Because of “us”?

Sophie realized her mistake too late.

Nathan looked at me.

—Vera—

—How long?

Silence.

Then Sophie said softly:

—Three months.

Three months.

While she sat beside me at lunch asking whether Nathan and I had discussed marriage.

While Nathan kissed me goodnight.

While I recommended Sophie for promotion.

I nodded.

—Thank you.

Nathan frowned.

—That’s it?

—That’s it.

That evening, I removed Nathan from my emergency contacts.

Canceled the vacation I had paid for.

Transferred his belongings from my apartment.

Then I emailed HR.

Not about the affair.

About Sophie’s work.

Because heartbreak was personal.

Professional misconduct wasn’t.

During the Morrison case, Sophie had repeatedly submitted work under her name that contained research, drafting, and strategy created almost entirely by me.

Normally, I wouldn’t have cared.

I had willingly helped her.

But while reviewing the files, I discovered something I hadn’t authorized.

Sophie had copied sections from confidential internal memoranda belonging to another client and inserted them into her drafts.

Client information.

Protected strategy.

Material that should never have crossed files.

The firm opened an internal review immediately.

Sophie stormed into my office the next morning.

—You reported me!

—Yes.

—Because Nathan chose me?

I looked at her.

—Nathan isn’t important enough to risk my license over.

Her face went white.

—You knew I used those documents.

—No. I knew you were careless.

I turned my monitor toward her.

—This is something else.

She stared at the audit trail.

Every document access.

Every download.

Every transfer.

Recorded.

—Vera, please.

For the first time in seven years, she sounded genuinely frightened.

—I can explain.

—Explain it to compliance.

Nathan called me that night.

—Withdraw the complaint.

—It’s not mine to withdraw.

—Sophie could lose her job.

—Then perhaps she should have thought about that before mishandling confidential material.

His voice became cold.

—You’ve changed.

I almost laughed.

—No, Nathan.

—I stopped protecting people who hurt me.

Two weeks later, Sophie was suspended pending the firm’s investigation.

Nathan disappeared from my life almost as quickly.

Three months later, they broke up.

I learned through mutual friends that Nathan had discovered Sophie wasn’t nearly as helpless as she had pretended.

I felt nothing.

By then, the Morrison victory had brought me three new corporate clients.

Six months later, I became the youngest partner in my department.

At the celebration dinner, the managing partner handed me a sealed envelope.

—There’s something you should see.

Inside was an application from another firm.

Sophie Lane.

She had listed herself as lead strategist on the Morrison case.

My case.

My victory.

My work.

But that wasn’t what made me stare.

Attached was a recommendation letter supposedly written by one of our firm’s senior partners.

The signature looked perfect.

There was only one problem.

That partner had died eight months before Sophie claimed the letter was written.

I looked up.

—Where did you get this?

The managing partner’s expression hardened.

—The other firm called to verify it.

He placed a second folder in front of me.

—And once we started checking, we found something worse.

Inside were records going back almost four years.

Client introductions.

Performance reviews.

Internal recommendations.

Documents that had helped Sophie build her entire career.

Several carried my electronic approval.

I had never seen them.

My stomach turned cold.

The managing partner pointed to the oldest record.

—Vera, Sophie didn’t start using your name after she took your boyfriend.

He looked directly at me.

—She’s been impersonating you inside this firm since your first year here.