Chapter 2

"Don't make a scene tonight," he said in a low voice. "The investors are all outside."

I turned around and pointed toward the hall.

"What does that plaque mean?"

"Vivienne handles the brand positioning and media narrative. She’s better suited for the spotlight than you," he said quickly, as if he had rehearsed this explanation a hundred times. "You know what investors like. They need someone who can tell a story."

"I designed this hotel."

"I know."

"Every approval drawing, every restoration plan, every field change—I did them all."

"I know that too, Naomi." A trace of impatience finally crept into his tone. "But this isn't about who drew more blueprints. You always take things too personally. Vivienne got us media exposure and elevated your work to a higher level. You should think about the project."

"The project?"

I let out a cold laugh, a heavy tightness crushing my chest.

"So for the project, you gave her my name?"

Marcus’s expression froze for half a second. He reached out to touch my wrist, but I pulled back.

"It’s just a temporary arrangement," he said. "The funding hasn't fully landed yet. Once this round is closed, I’ll make it up to you. Whether you want a new studio or a partnership position, we can talk."

When he said "make it up to you," he sounded like he was discussing a routine renovation budget.

Laughter drifted in from outside the door.

Vivienne was taking an interview, her voice coming through the gap, soft and confident.

"I’ve always believed that historic buildings need to be reinterpreted, not trapped in the past."

That line was directly from my design brief.

I had rewritten it seven times at our kitchen table, and Marcus had read it.

He praised how beautifully written it was, calling it the most moving line about this hotel.

Now, Vivienne was using it to win applause.

I stopped arguing with Marcus and simply walked past him.

He called after me from behind, "Naomi, just cooperate with me tonight. Don't make things difficult for me."

I paused, but I didn't turn around.

Over the past three years, I had done far too many things to avoid "making things difficult" for him.

Vale House had begun under a separate agreement with Hale Restoration Studio, the small practice I had built before Marcus asked me to come in-house.

I gave up my other projects and moved my team under Vale Development, but the company was licensed to build from my designs; it had never bought my original sketches, renderings, or restoration text.

I never fussed over my increasingly vague job title on paper, nor did I question why Marcus turned down every interview request on my behalf.

I thought that was trust in a marriage.

Turns out, it was just his calculated plan to push me away from my own name, step by step.

When I returned to the hall, Vivienne was already surrounded by reporters.

She saw me and raised her glass as if thanking an understanding colleague.

I didn't respond.

I walked to the temporary office at the back of the hotel, opened my laptop, and logged into the project archives.

My fingers were ice-cold; I mistyped my password twice.

The original drawings from three years ago were still there.

On the bottom right corner of the cover page, the designer's signature originally bore my name.

But in the latest submitted version, there was only one name left.

Vivienne Cross.

What chilled me to the bone was the system log: the edit had been made using my own account.

The timestamp read 11:47 PM last night.

At that exact minute, I was sitting at the dining table at home, editing Marcus’s speech for tonight.