Chapter 5

I didn't storm into the hallway to confront Marcus about why he was so certain I wouldn't leave.

I stood right where I was, waiting until their footsteps faded into the distance.

Then, I pulled out my phone and organized the management roster, the edit logs, and the conversation I had just overheard into an encrypted folder.

The old me used to believe that trust was the foundation of a marriage.

When Marcus said he’d handle things, I waited; when he said it wasn’t convenient to go public, I stepped back; when he said we were family, I gave up the position that belonged to me.

But when you yield for too long, people begin to think the ground you yielded was theirs to begin with.

The next morning, I arrived at the office early.

I didn't go looking for Marcus, nor did I look for Vivienne.

First, I printed the blueprint version logs, the signature changes before and after the opening, and the canceled partner appointment letter.

Then, I drafted a concise email and sent it directly to the board secretary.

There wasn't a single emotional accusation in the email.

I simply stated: There is a clear discrepancy between the public accreditation and the original records for the Vale House project. Until this issue is clarified, I refuse to recognize Vivienne Cross as the sole Lead Architect. I also request the preservation of all original files to prevent any unresolvable discrepancies later on.

After hitting send, I stared at the screen for a long time.

This wasn't a victory, nor could it even be called a counterattack.

I was simply stopping the habit of wiping the knives clean for them before handing them back with my own hands.

In less than ten minutes, Marcus appeared at my office door.

He didn't knock.

"Recall that email," he said.

I looked up. "Why?"

"Because you're turning an internal arrangement into a corporate crisis," he walked in and shut the door behind him. "The board is focusing on the hotel’s follow-up financing today. Sending an email like this right now will only make them think you're unstable."

"How is asking to verify my own credit being unstable?"

Marcus looked at the documents on my desk, his face darkening inch by inch.

"What do you want? The partnership position? I can rearrange it. You want compensation? We can talk. But you can't force the company to take sides on the second day of the grand opening."

"The company doesn't need to take sides," I said. "It just needs to acknowledge who actually did the design."

He let out a short laugh, though no warmth reached his eyes.

"Naomi, Vivienne is already standing in front of the media. Pulling her down now will make everyone ask why. She worked so hard to rebuild her life—do you really have to subject her to public humiliation all over again?"

Those words again.

Always "don't make Vivienne feel embarrassed."

My work, my title, my name—all of it could be crushed down, as long as she stayed under the spotlight.

"She shouldn't be standing in that spot in the first place," I said.

Marcus's jaw tightened.

"Do you really think you bear zero responsibility? All these years, you put all your mind into drawings. The clients, the media, the board—who shielded you from all of that every single time? It was me. At least Vivienne knows how to make people see value. You can dislike her, but don't rebrand your own bitterness as principle."

He delivered those words so fluidly, so smoothly that I suspected he had rehearsed them in his mind dozens of times.

As long as I stood my ground, it became "bitterness." As long as I got angry, it became "jealousy." As long as I fought for what was mine, I was accused of "ignoring the bigger picture."

Marcus placed a document in front of my face.

The document was only two pages long.

But I knew that if I signed it, Vale House would become a lie I had agreed to tell with my own name.