Chapter 3

The pages inside the envelope were thin, but resting on my lap, they felt like ice.

I turned to the last page, seeing my name first, followed by that familiar electronic signature.

The curve at the end of the letters matched my usual habit, precisely mimicking even the tiny stroke I always missed when writing too fast.

The contract was straightforward: I was hired by Sloane to compile, rewrite, and complete this book; all author credits, royalties, and adaptation rights belonged exclusively to Sloane; I was forbidden from disclosing the ghostwriting arrangement to anyone.

Seven years of my blood, sweat, and tears compressed into a few lines of cold font.

What made it even more ridiculous was the clause stating that I had already received full payment.

Fifty thousand dollars.

I stared at that number, my chest tightening.

Over the past seven years, I had covered my mother’s medical expenses for Adrian and taken on various freelance editing gigs to supplement our household income.

Now, they were using fifty thousand dollars to buy out my mother’s legacy and seven years of my life.

“Mrs. Blake?”

Tessa was still standing beside me. Hired less than six months ago, she used to eagerly praise my writing whenever she saw me.

Now, her hands were tightly clasped in front of her, barely able to look me in the eye.

“Who had me sign this agreement?” I asked.

“The document was uploaded to the system from your home computer,” she said in a low voice. “Mr. Blake said you had agreed, but just didn't want to attend the pre-launch formalities in person.”

“What date was it uploaded?”

Tessa hesitated for a moment. “The system logs should be in the archives. I only handled the filing; I never saw the original.”

She was telling the truth. The truly sickening part was that while she feared losing her job, she also knew something dirty was going on.

Adrian was a master at getting others to execute the final step, making everyone believe they were simply following protocol.

I folded the agreement, stuffed it into my clutch, stood up, and walked toward the backstage area.

Adrian was standing at the end of the service corridor on the phone, his tone relaxed as if he had just closed a routine deal.

Spotting me, he said, “I’ll call you later,” to the person on the line before tucking his phone away.

“Finished reading it?” he asked. “I originally wanted to talk to you after the launch ended.”

“You forged my signature.”

His face darkened. “Naomi, don't say things like that here.”

“Then tell me, where is the fifty thousand dollars?”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “The money didn't go directly into your account. I handled some of the remaining expenses your mother left behind, as well as the credit card debt. You were in a terrible state back then and couldn't remember much. I didn't want to upset you with those details.”

My mind flashed back to the last few months of my mother’s hospitalization.

Whenever I asked about the medical bills, Adrian would say everything was taken care of and tell me to focus on being with her.

Back then, I thought I had married a reliable man.

In reality, he was simply laying a trap in advance so I wouldn't be able to fight back.

“You paid the bills for me, so that gives you the right to sell my book?”

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Giving this book to Sloane is the only way it reaches a wider audience. You write well—I’ve never denied that. But she has the platform, the audience, and she knows how to handle the public.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?”

He paused, his eyes avoiding mine.

“Because you wouldn't have agreed,” he said. “And I had to make the decision for our family.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

Then I opened the notes app on my phone beneath the edge of my clutch and typed every word he had just said.

He had finally admitted the truth.

He never needed my agreement.

He only needed me to stay too afraid to challenge what he had done.