Chapter 4

“Because you wouldn't have agreed.”

Those six words made me clearer-headed than any confession ever could.

He framed our marriage as a shared life, re-packaged plunder as taking responsibility for me, and disguised betrayal as a choice a man was forced to make.

In the past, I would always self-reflect after hearing such words, wondering if I was being too sensitive or not understanding enough of his stress.

Tonight, I finally understood that what he needed was never my understanding.

What he needed was for me to keep believing that I had no right to make decisions for myself.

Sloane walked over from the press area, holding a glass of champagne. She spoke to Adrian first, “The reporters are looking for you,” before turning her eyes onto me.

“Naomi, I know this hurts. But once the book is published, someone has to take the heat. You don't like being in front of the camera, so I can do this for you.”

“For me?”

Her smile didn't flicker. “You get a peaceful life, and I get an opportunity. It’s good for everyone.”

She actually treated this like a fair trade.

I pulled the agreement out of my bag, flipped to the signature page, and held it out in front of Adrian.

“I want a complete digital log. The upload time, the device used to sign it, and where the payment went—every single detail.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “How far are you planning to push this?”

“I just want to know what I actually signed.”

“You already know,” Evelyn’s voice came from behind.

She stepped between us and adjusted the shawl on Sloane’s shoulders, acting like a gentle elder. But there wasn't a drop of warmth in the way she looked at me.

“A mature woman should know when to protect her family and when she’ll pay the price for a fleeting outburst. Adrian has given you enough dignity. Don't force him to take it back.”

“Dignity?” I asked. “Letting the whole world think I stole my own book—that’s dignity?”

Evelyn sighed softly. “You have Lily. You should think about what good it does her if this family is dragged into a scandal because of your impulse.”

She didn't threaten my daughter directly. She simply laid what a mother cared about most right in front of me, reminding me: the moment I fought back, all the consequences would be placed on my head.

Adrian reached out to snatch the agreement back, but I put it away into my bag first.

“Send me the digital log before tomorrow,” I said. “Or I’ll go find it myself.”

He stared at me, the last thread of his patience finally evaporating from his eyes.

“Naomi, you’d better not push me to the point where I have to protect Sloane and the publishing house.”

I turned and left the backstage area without answering.

Stepping out of the venue, I got into my car and locked the doors before spreading the agreement across the steering wheel again.

Faint music from the launch party still leaked through the glass doors behind me, while interview clips of Sloane kept popping up on my phone screen.

I zoomed in on the signature page, my eyes locking onto the tiny text at the very bottom.

Time of signature: October 14th last year, 10:43 PM.

That day was the day my mother passed away.

At 10:43 PM, I was sitting on the hospital room floor, holding her ice-cold hand.

And Adrian had taken my laptop, saying he was going to contact the funeral home for me.

So who signed that agreement in my place?