Chapter 3

The edit history on the screen froze at 11:47 PM last night.

I stared at that timestamp, my finger hovering over the mouse, unable to click.

At 11:47 PM last night, I was sitting at our dining table at home, rewriting the opening speech for Marcus.

He had claimed he wasn't good at emotional phrasing and asked me to make the hotel’s story feel "more human."

I had spent a long time perfecting one specific line: The true value of a building lies in remembering who brought it back to life.

Looking back now, Marcus must have found the irony exquisite.

I clicked open the operation details, but the system only displayed my account name without showing the device IP address.

The company’s internal project accounts were originally managed by me; Marcus knew the password, and Vivienne had also requested temporary access as the brand consultant.

Anyone could have tampered with it, yet it was my name that was left behind.

When the door pushed open, I quickly took a screenshot.

Marcus stood at the doorway, his tie already loosened, carrying that same flawless smile he used for the guests.

"Everyone is looking for you," he said, walking in. "The mayor wants to take a photo with you."

I turned the laptop screen toward him.

"My account modified the blueprint credits last night."

He glanced at it, showing none of the surprise I had expected.

"The tech team was probably organizing file versions," he said. "Don't dwell on this tonight."

"Vivienne’s name replaced mine."

"Naomi." He sighed, his tone like someone soothing an unreasonable child. "I’ve already told you, external publicity requires a unified narrative. Raising a scene tonight does no one any good."

"Then what about my name?"

He fell silent for a moment, then placed his hand on my shoulder.

"You are my wife. No one will deny what you’ve given to this hotel."

Those words made me feel more humiliated than any excuse could have.

I spent three years restoring a building, and in the end, the only identity he left me with was "Marcus Vale’s wife."

Someone knocked on the door outside, reminding Marcus that the media was waiting.

He immediately pulled his hand back, turning around before casting one last glance at me.

"Come out with me and smile. At least for tonight, don't make things difficult for me."

I followed him back to the main hall.

Reporters had already surrounded Vivienne.

She was standing beneath the spiral staircase I had designed, with the stained-glass window I had insisted on preserving right behind her.

When she looked up, the lighting fell over her face, making the grand hall look almost like a stage built specifically for her.

"Vivienne, as the lead architect, which part are you most satisfied with?" a reporter asked.

She smiled gently.

"The arched windows in the west wing. Many suggested boarding them up, but I believe a building shouldn't lose its chance to be seen just because it was once ruined."

My breath hitched.

Those were the exact words I had written in my design brief.

Vivienne caught sight of me, her gaze lingering briefly on my face.

She didn't panic, nor did she look away.

She simply turned back to the reporter and said, "Of course, many talented people contributed to this project. Marcus’s team provided me with tremendous support."

Just like that, she reduced me from the lead designer into one of "many talented people."

Before I could step away, his arm tightened around my waist.

I knew exactly what he was about to do: pull me into the frame, then make sure the only thing anyone saw was Marcus Vale’s wife.