My Partner Gave My Invention to His Mistress

The white dress felt perfect on me as I stepped into the gala venue. Three years of late nights, endless cups of coffee, and lines of code that stretched into infinity had led to this moment—our Series-A funding celebration. The dress was my small rebellion against the hoodies and jeans that had become my uniform. Tonight, I wanted to feel like the founder I'd worked so hard to become.

"Gemma!" Benicio's voice cut through the ambient chatter. My lead engineer approached with his trademark enthusiasm, followed by Saint, our security architect. "The investors are asking about the neural network's learning curve. They're blown away by the numbers."

"Tell them it's just the beginning," I said, smoothing down my dress nervously. "Once we implement the next phase of the algorithm—"

"Excuse me." A voice sliced through our conversation. Whitney Salazar stood there in a blood-red dress that hugged every curve, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "I was looking for Patrick. Have you seen him?"

I hadn't. And something in her eyes told me she knew exactly where he was.

"Last I saw, he was by the stage," Saint offered helpfully.

Whitney's smile widened. "Thank you so much. You're such a sweetheart." She turned to me, her eyes flickering over my white dress with barely concealed disdain. "Love your dress, Gemma. So... classic."

Before I could respond, she pivoted sharply, her arm swinging in an exaggerated gesture. The glass of red wine in her hand arced through the air in slow motion. Time seemed to stop as the dark liquid splashed across my chest, blooming like a crimson flower across the pristine white fabric.

"Oh my God!" Whitney's hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. "I'm so clumsy! Let me help you!"

Her fingers brushed against my dress, somehow managing to spread the stain further. The cold wetness seeped through to my skin as conversations around us halted, all eyes turning toward the spectacle.

"I'll be fine," I managed, backing away from her touch. "Just need to clean up."

I turned and fled toward the restrooms, feeling the weight of stares burning into my back. The white dress that had felt so perfect now hung heavy with humiliation.

In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, I dabbed uselessly at the stain with damp paper towels. The wine had already set into the fabric. My reflection looked back at me, eyes wide with shock and something else—a dawning understanding that this wasn't an accident.

The sound system in the bathroom crackled to life, and Patrick's voice filled the space.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce the brilliant mind behind NeuralNext's revolutionary architecture—Whitney Salazar!"

My hands froze mid-motion. Through the speaker, I heard applause and Whitney's practiced laugh.

"Thank you all so much," her voice purred. "When Patrick first approached me about this project, I knew we were on the verge of something game-changing."

My stomach twisted as she continued, claiming credit for algorithms I'd spent sleepless nights perfecting.