My Seven Wasted Years

I lay on the hospital bed. The ward was very quiet, with only the TV on at low volume. I absentmindedly picked up the remote and flipped through the channels. Suddenly, the financial news channel froze me in my tracks as Freddie James's face appeared on the screen. He wore a sharp dark gray suit, his hair perfectly combed, smiling directly at the camera. The reporter's voice came through: "Mr. James, there has been much public curiosity—Cindy Lincoln, as the company's core technical staff and your long-time partner, how do you assess her role in the company's development?" I held my breath, my fingers unconsciously clutching the blanket tightly. Seven years. From cramming coding in a ten-square-meter rented room right after graduating from university, to securing the company's first financing, and now growing into a tech company with some industry reputation. I thought we were comrades, lovers, the ones who couldn't live without each other. But Freddie tilted his head slightly, a faint, flippant smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "Cindy Lincoln? She was indeed an early business partner. We each took what we needed—she had the skills, I had the resources. It was merely a partnership." Each taking what we needed. Those words felt like an ice-cold blade thrust straight into my heart. I felt all my strength drain away; even breathing became difficult. The mobile phone lay beside me, the screen still lit, frozen on the chat window with Freddie. The last message he sent was yesterday: "Cindy, take good care of yourself. I'll come see you as soon as I'm done with work." I trembled as I opened the contact list and found the name "Jack." Jack was the investor who had put twenty million dollars into our company back then, and the only person who knew that Freddie and I had signed an Equity Pledge Agreement. The Agreement was very clear: if Freddie engaged in any behavior that harmed our company's interests or betrayed the partner, ownership of the company would automatically transfer to me. The moment the call connected, I took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. "Jack, this is Cindy." "Cindy? Are you feeling any better?" Jack's voice was filled with concern. "I'm fine," I bit my lower lip, "I'm going to execute the Equity Pledge Agreement and take control of the company." There was a two-second silence on the other end, then Jack's hearty laugh came through: "I knew you'd make this call sooner or later! Don't worry, the legal team has been ready for some time and can initiate the process at any moment." After hanging up, I stared at the ceiling as tears finally fell. Seven years of emotions were, in the end, nothing more than a carefully packaged "partnership." The phone lit up again. This message is from Freddie: "Cindy, I'm busy now. Let Riley take care of you for the time being. She's very attentive—tell her if you need anything." Riley Charles—I had known about her all along: the flirtatious texts on Freddie's mobile phone, the unfamiliar scent of perfume on his suit. I wasn't blind to it; I was just fooling myself. Not long after, the hospital ward door swung open. Riley wore a pink dress with a very short hem, revealing her pale legs, her face shining with unreserved pride. "Cindy," Freddie asked me to look after you," she said as she pulled over a chair and sat beside my bed. "Look at you—how did you end up in the hospital? Have you been overworking yourself?" I remained silent, only casting a cold look at her. She seemed to ignore my gaze, took out her mobile phone from her bag, and opened a game. On the screen, an ancient-themed game skin quickly appeared, called "Moonlight Chamber." It was the couples' skin that Freddie and I had spent three months designing together. Back then, he was still holding me as he said, "Cindy, this skin belongs only to us. No matter how many new skins come out in the future, I'll only use this one with you." Riley shook her mobile phone, her voice full of bragging: "Cindy, does this skin look good? Freddie just bought it for me yesterday." I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "He didn't tell you?" Riley leaned in closer, lowering her voice, "He said that designing this with you back then was just so you could focus on coding peacefully. Now that the company has grown, you're no longer of much use." I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, all I felt was a bone-chilling cold emptiness. "You can leave now." I spoke softly, but with an unmistakable, resolute finality.