I don’t know what I expected when I broke up with Taylor.
Tears, heartache.. You know, the normal stuff.
What I didn’t know was that she was much more vindictive than I realized.
In fact, her ‘revenge’ almost ruined me.
The Missing Notebook
When I broke up with Taylor, it wasn’t a clean break.
We were together for a while—three years of building a life and sharing everything. But over time, things turned bitter.
She started to change in ways I couldn’t understand. The small things that had once seemed endearing now felt manipulative.
I left her place after our final argument with a heavy heart. And with everything I could carry in my hands.
The leather-bound notebook? I didn’t even think about it. I was too angry, too hurt.
Days passed, and it wasn’t until I settled into my new apartment that I realized something important was missing.
That notebook—my notebook. The one filled with sketches, personal ideas, and designs I’d poured my heart into.
It was gone.
I ransacked my apartment, thinking maybe I’d misplaced it. But it didn’t turn up.
I reached out to Taylor. “Hey, did you happen to see my notebook? I think I left it there.”
She texted back quickly, too quickly. “Nope, don’t have it. Maybe check your studio?”
But I knew. I knew she had it.
A Familiar Design
It was Kate, Taylor’s coworker and a former classmate from design school, who filled in the blanks for me.
We met for coffee a few days later, and I tried to keep things light. But Kate had something she needed to say.
“Hey, Miles, you know that design you posted on your private blog a few years ago?” Kate said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.
“Yeah… what about it?” I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.
“Well, I saw it. In Taylor’s meeting last week. She presented it like it was her own work. I recognized it immediately.”
I almost choked on my coffee. “Wait, what? You saw her presenting my design?”
Kate nodded, her expression grave. “I know it was yours because I remember you posting it. I even commented on it back then. It’s exactly the same—the colors, the layout, the concept.”
I sat back, stunned.
I couldn’t believe it. My ex was using my ideas to get ahead, and I had no way of proving it—until now.
My anger started to build up. The betrayal cut deeper than I’d imagined.
“So, you’re telling me that she’s using my designs, and everyone at your company thinks it’s her work?”
“Yep. Pretty much,” Kate said. “But you know, I think you have a chance to take action. If you want to expose her, now’s your shot.”
Inside Help
The moment Kate told me about Taylor’s plagiarism, I knew I had to act.
My ideas—my work—were part of who I was, and watching someone use them to climb the ladder while I struggled to rebuild after our breakup was infuriating.
But I couldn’t just barge into Taylor’s office and start throwing accusations. I needed a plan.
Kate was key to all of it. She was willing to help, not just because of her loyalty to me, but because she’d been burned by Taylor before.
“She’s giving a big presentation on Friday,” Kate told me, her voice low as we leaned over the small table at our café. “It’s for the execs. It’s her ticket to a promotion if she pulls it off.”
“And you’re sure she’s using my work?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Kate nodded. “One hundred percent. The centerpiece of her presentation is one of your designs. It’s practically identical to what I saw on your blog.”
We spent the next hour hashing out a strategy.
Kate was the one who would get me into the building. She knew the schedule, the layout of the meeting rooms, and how to make it look like I belonged there.
“I can get you in as a guest,” she said. “You just have to keep it professional. The proof you have is strong enough to speak for itself.”
By the end of the conversation, we had a clear plan.
I’d attend the meeting under the guise of being a design consultant or guest observer. Once Taylor started presenting my work, I’d step in and expose her theft.
Kate promised to back me up, adding her own story of how Taylor had stolen her ideas in the past.
Together, we’d make sure the truth came out.
The Conference Room Confrontation
The day of the meeting had arrived, and I was ready.
Kate met me in the lobby and handed me a visitor badge, whispering final instructions as we walked toward the conference room.
“Just stay calm and follow my lead,” she said. “This is Taylor’s big moment, so she’ll be focused on impressing the execs. When the time comes, you’ll have the floor.”
I nodded, gripping the strap of my bag tightly.
Inside was my laptop, loaded with the evidence I needed. It was all there—original sketches, timestamps, and the blog post where I’d shared the design long before Taylor ever got her hands on it.
The conference room buzzed with energy as we stepped inside.
Everyone was chatting, and Taylor stood confidently at the front, her voice rising above the hum as she greeted the room.
She hadn’t noticed me yet.
The meeting began, and Taylor launched into her presentation with a practiced ease.
Slide after slide showcased her “vision” and “creativity,” and I watched in barely contained frustration as she claimed my work as her own.
Then came the slide that stopped me cold: my design. A concept I’d spent weeks perfecting, now plastered on the screen with her name on it.
“And this design,” Taylor said, gesturing to the slide, “is one I’m particularly proud of. It’s a perfect example of how I approach blending aesthetics with functionality to create something truly unique.”
I stood up. “Unique, huh? Let’s talk about that.”
The room went silent. Heads turned toward me as I stepped forward.
Taylor froze, her confident smile faltering. “Miles? What are you doing here?”
“I’m here because I couldn’t sit back and watch you take credit for work that isn’t yours,” I said, my voice steady. “That design you’re presenting? It’s mine. I created it years ago, and I can prove it.”
One of the executives, a man in his fifties with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, spoke up. “This is a serious accusation. Do you have evidence?”
I nodded, pulling my laptop from my bag and placing it on the table in front of the executives. “I do. If I may?”
The executive gestured toward the screen at the front of the room. “Go ahead.”
I connected my laptop to the projector, and within seconds, my blog post appeared on the screen.
The timestamp was clear: I had shared the design three years ago, complete with the original sketches and a detailed explanation of my process.
Gasps rippled through the room as I scrolled through the post.
“This is the original design,” I said, pointing to the screen. “I created this, and it’s been on my private blog for years. I also keep backups of all my sketches, so if you need more proof, I can provide it.”
Taylor’s face turned crimson as the executives leaned forward, studying the evidence.
“This… this is just a coincidence,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Lots of designs look similar—”
Kate stood up, her voice cutting through Taylor’s excuses.
“It’s not a coincidence,” she said firmly. “I’ve worked with Taylor for years, and this isn’t the first time she’s done this. She took one of my designs last year and used it to get ahead. This is a pattern.”
The executives exchanged looks, their expressions a mix of disbelief and anger.
The senior manager, Mark, turned to Taylor. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Taylor opened her mouth, but no words came out. The weight of the evidence—and the damning testimony from Kate—was too much to fight against.
“Taylor,” Mark said, his tone icy, “we’ll need to have a conversation in private. For now, I think it’s safe to say this presentation is over.”
Karma in Full Swing
Taylor was escorted out of the room, her head low and her confidence shattered.
The executives turned their attention back to me, some offering apologies while others simply shook their heads in disbelief.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with this,” one of them said, a senior manager who introduced himself as Mark. “We had no idea she was plagiarizing work. Your designs are exceptional—would you consider working with us? We’re clearly in need of someone with your talent.”
The offer caught me off guard, but I didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to,” I said, shaking Mark’s hand.
It was ironic, really—Taylor had tried to use my work to advance her career, and now her theft was leading to opportunities for me instead.
Later that afternoon, Kate and I grabbed a drink to celebrate.
“You really nailed it in there,” she said, clinking her glass against mine. “It’s about time Taylor got what she deserved.”
“She brought it on herself,” I replied. “Karma has a way of catching up to people like her.”
As the days passed, word spread about what had happened.
Taylor’s reputation was in ruins, and she was fired from the company. Her attempts to climb the corporate ladder had left her with nothing but humiliation.
Meanwhile, I was settling into my new role, finally getting the recognition I’d worked so hard for.
I never did get my notebook back. But in the end, I didn’t need it.
Taylor may have stolen my ideas, but she couldn’t steal what mattered most: my integrity, my creativity, and the respect I’d earned from it all.