Okay, but what if he fakes a heart attack next?"
Brittany wasn't joking.
She had a whiteboard covered in possible Jason sabotage tactics, including—but not limited to—leaking fake emails, releasing an alternate version of our app coded by an intern he seduced with craft beer, and showing up at my mom's birthday party with a ukulele.
"He doesn't even play the ukulele," I muttered.
"Exactly. That's why it's scary."
Leo strolled in, two coffees in hand, and paused. "Why does this board say 'ferret ambush' under Wednesday?"
"Contingency plan," Brittany replied, completely serious.
Leo handed me a coffee and kissed my cheek. "Well, at least we're ready."
I tried to smile. But the pit in my stomach was doing jumping jacks.
**
That afternoon, Leo and I met with a lawyer Harrison recommended—Greta. She wore a blazer like a suit of armor and had the vibe of someone who sharpened her nails before court.
"Jason's claim is flimsy, but he's betting you'll cave to avoid drama before your next funding round."
"We won't," Leo said firmly.
Greta raised a brow. "Even if he leaks the old NDA? The one you both signed when you first pitched to him?"
"It's expired."
"It is. But that won't stop him from spinning a story."
"What story?" I asked.
"That you used his early feedback, then ghosted him. That you owe him. That this is revenge, not success."
I clenched my fists.
Leo placed his hand over mine under the table.
And just like that, I wasn't drowning.
Just... holding my breath.
**
After the meeting, we walked in silence. New York buzzed around us like it didn't know our entire lives were under siege.
"We'll get through it," Leo said, breaking the quiet.
"I know."
He stopped me at the corner.
"Do you?"
I looked up.
His eyes were soft. Clear. Honest.
The world tilted a little. Not in the falling-apart way. In the falling-in-love kind.
"You don't have to do this alone anymore, Cleo."
And I believed him.
Even when the next day, Jason pulled his nastiest move yet.
**
"He's doing what?!" I yelled.
Brittany pointed at the screen. "He's hosting a launch event. Tomorrow. For his app. Called 'RealMatch.'"
"That's our algorithm!"
"And look—he's claiming you stole his idea, spun it, and turned him into the villain."
Leo swore. Loudly.
The internet was already buzzing.
#FakeFounders. #CleoCon.
One tweet read: If this is a rom-com, Jason's the bitter ex who turns out to be the villain in Act Three.
"At least they know he's the villain?" Brittany offered weakly.
"We need to go," I said. "We need to crash his party."
Leo grinned. "Now you're speaking my language."
**
The event was at some rooftop bar in SoHo, all sleek glass and glowing cocktails. Jason stood near the stage in a velvet blazer like he invented the concept of romance.
We slipped in with a few borrowed press passes and enough attitude to fuel a musical.
I marched up to him, Leo at my side.
"Jason."
He turned. Smiled. Sleazy.
"Cleo. Leo. How poetic. Come to join the celebration?"
"You're stealing our code. Our concept."
He shrugged. "It's business."
"It's theft."
"And it's already out there. By the time you file suit, I'll have ten million users."
"You think users want you as the face of love?" I laughed. "They can smell fake a mile away."
His smile slipped.
Leo stepped forward. "We don't have to beat you in court, Jason. We'll beat you with truth."
"And receipts," I added, holding up the folder of screenshots Brittany pulled last night. Emails. Texts. Proof he knew our app predated his.
Jason's jaw clenched.
"This isn't over," he snapped.
I leaned in. "Yes, Jason. It is."
**
We left before the chaos began. Before Greta's legal notice arrived. Before the hashtags flipped.
Back at the office, Brittany popped another confetti cannon. "You guys are so getting a movie deal."
I turned to Leo.
"We're okay now, right?"
He didn't answer.
Just pulled me close.
And kissed me like the war was over.
Because it was.
For now.