Wrong Key to My Heart

For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world.

A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award.

But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio.

"All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares.

Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now."

Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off.

I stand in the corner, my heart in despair.

As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Langley?" My assistant, Walter Moore, sounded rather worried over the phone.

He continued, "Ms. Doyle just signed a performance-based contract with Galaxis. If we pull the investment now, her studio will go under. And if we don't resolve the patent infringement lawsuit, she could go to prison."

I stared at the neon lights outside the window, my heart completely unmoved.

Natasha Doyle and I had been together for seven years now. Not once had she ever acknowledged our relationship in public.

She told me, "Once I've made something of myself, I'll tell the whole world that you're mine."

How many times had she repeated that to me?

Because of that promise, I used all of my family's resources to help her go from being an unknown designer to an internationally acclaimed one.

Yet, all I got in return was her betrayal.

"Carry out my orders," I said to Walter. "No more hesitation."

After I ended the call, I heard the sound of heels rushing urgently toward me from behind.

"Where did you go?" Natasha called out to me, slightly out of breath. "Where's my acceptance speech? And what's going on with you today?"

"I didn't prepare a speech to announce your relationship with Connor Gibson," I said coolly.

Natasha's expression stiffened, but she simply scoffed at me. "Are you jealous? That's just a marketing strategy! Don't you get it? Besides, I have Connor to thank for the studio becoming what it is today. He's the one who got me all the clients, resources, and production support."

Oh, the irony.

Previously, to keep my involvement a secret, I got Michael Wagner, a subordinate of mine, to act as my middleman and provide everything Natasha needed.

But now, she claimed it was all thanks to that bastard, Connor.

"I'm going home." I didn't want to say another word to her.

Once I was home, my phone buzzed. Connor sent me a video of him having dinner with Natasha's parents at the Doyle residence.

"I can't wait for the day you officially become my son-in-law, Connor!" Mrs. Doyle exclaimed enthusiastically as she placed Natasha's hand in Connor's.

Despite having been together for seven years, Natasha had never let me set foot in her family home. Once, when Mrs. Doyle ran into us, Natasha introduced me as her employee.

We had a huge fight over it. But in the end, like countless times before that, I was the one to give in and admit that I was wrong.

A dull ache spread across my chest. I turned my phone off and closed my eyes.

…

Late that night, I was woken abruptly by someone tugging on me. Natasha roughly yanked the blanket off me.

"Get out. Sleep in the living room. Connor is staying in this bedroom tonight."

She spoke to me as if I were her servant. There was no trace of warmth in her eyes.

But it wasn't surprising. For the last seven years, she thought of me as everything from a production consultant and a design assistant to an errand boy. Not once had she ever treated as an equal and her life partner.

Doing my best to keep my anger in check, I asked, "Doesn't Connor have anywhere else to stay?"

"The reporters have been camping outside his apartment ever since the awards ceremony ended. He has nowhere else to go."

How considerate of Natasha.

I still remembered the way she acted after I was hospitalized after getting beaten up by the corporate spies while trying to protect her design drafts. She didn't even bother calling to check on me then.

As I lay in the hospital bed after receiving 23 stitches, she was busy attending a design exhibition and couldn't even spare a message to express her concern.

"That makes sense. After all, you guys have gone public with your relationship," I commented.

Natasha's expression stiffened, and her tone sharpened harshly. "Haven't I already explained to you that it's just a marketing strategy? Don't be such a petty manchild."

I was getting pretty damn tired of hearing that excuse. It was always the same one she gave me whenever she and Connor were photographed being intimate with each other.

"Is it part of your marketing strategy to bring him home to your family? When did your parents start working as reporters? I saw a video of your mother calling him her future son-in-law."