Chapter 2

I arrived at the Whitmore Grand Hotel shortly after three, nearly five hours before Paige was due onstage.

I only came to pack my design archives before the banquet. But as I walked into the main lobby, the harsh sound of a power drill pierced my ears.

Workers were drilling a shiny gold plaque into the marble wall:

The Paige Lawson Bridal Hall.

My breath caught violently. My chest tightened with a sharp, familiar ache. I looked down. Kicked carelessly under a dirty maintenance cart, covered in dust, lay the old bronze plaque:

The Amelia Rhodes Grand Ballroom.

My mother’s name.

My knees went weak. I dropped straight to the dirty tile.I frantically wiped the dust off my mother’s name with my sleeve. They were throwing her legacy away like garbage.

"Vivian? You are here early."

I stiffened. Paige stood behind me in a perfectly tailored white maternity dress, holding a stack of glossy new brochures. She offered a sweet, innocent smile.

"I hope you are not mad," Paige said softly. "I thought this was just a temporary name for tonight. But Connor insisted on making it permanent."

Permanent. He was completely erasing my family from this hotel.

I stood up, and snatched a brochure from her hands. My vision blurred as I flipped through the pages.

The space concepts, the floral arrangements, the brand stories—I had drawn every single one of them. She wasn't just taking the ballroom; she was stealing my entire life's work.

"What is going on here?" a deep voice interrupted.

Connor walked up. He frowned when he saw my red, tear-streaked eyes and the heavy plaque in my arms.

"Put that dirty thing away, Vivian," he sighed, looking deeply annoyed. "Do not make a scene. People are working."

"You gave her my designs,"my voice trembling as the grief turned into pure, cold fury. "You let her tear down my mother's name."

Connor rolled his eyes and stepped in front of Paige, shielding her.

"Be reasonable, Vivian," he said coldly. "The old name had no commercial value. No one cares about a dead designer."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Seven years I built his empire with my own hands, and this was how he dismissed my mother. A hollow, chilling laugh echoed silently inside me.

"Since you are here early, do me a favor," Connor ordered, completely blind to my pain. "Paige is going to launch her brand tonight. Proofread her speech. Check her technical terms."

I stared at him in pure disbelief. He truly expected me to swallow my heartbreak and help the woman who stole my legacy.

My mother and I had signed the original brand contract with the hotel. It stated absolute rules: Amelia Rhodes must always be credited. The ballroom name cannot be changed. Connor had just shattered every single rule.

A sharp, freezing spark of ice formed in my chest. I would not break down here for them to watch.

I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hand, held my mother's heavy plaque tightly to my chest, and pulled out my phone.

Click. I took a photo of the new gold sign.

Click. I took a photo of the stolen designs in the brochure.

"What are you doing?" Connor frowned, looking slightly confused.

"Just keeping a record," I said quietly, my voice eerily steady.

I turned my back on them and walked out into the cool city air. I attached the photos to an email and sent them straight to my lawyer.

My phone buzzed instantly.

"I received the evidence," my lawyer wrote. "This gives you the contractual right to suspend the license immediately."

"File the suspension for eight o’clock tonight," I typed.

"Understood," he replied. "Her access will terminate the moment she goes onstage."