Chapter 3

Kenna wasn't wrong. Rosalie Werner, Fernando's mom, never liked me, not even a little. To her, I was an editor with a measly paycheck.

Rosalie never missed a chance to remind me that Fernando had so much going for him, and he could have anyone he wanted.

If she found out we were divorced, she'd probably celebrate with champagne.

Honestly, I kind of wanted to see her reaction when she finally figured out Gael was actually me.

But that was something for another day.

For now, I wanted some peace in my life.

*****

On the third day after moving out, I rented a one-bedroom apartment, a fifteen-minute walk from the publishing house.

The place wasn't big, but it was more than enough for me. The balcony faced south, and when the afternoon sun came in, I'd pull up a chair and write out there.

It felt way cozier than Fernando's brand-new 1,200-square-foot apartment.

His place was always freezing because he kept the AC cranked up to 72 degrees. While I was wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, he'd be gaming away.

Now, I got to set the AC however I liked.

Once the move was done, I got back into my usual routine. During the day, I worked on editing novels at the office, and at night, I'd come home and work on my new book.

I'd finished about a third of it, keeping it as a draft for now, with no plans to start serializing it yet.

Life was peaceful for about half a month.

Then, Rosalie called.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was working on a chapter outline when my phone rang. The caller ID showed "Rosalie." I hadn't gotten around to deleting her number yet.

I hesitated for a couple of seconds before picking up.

"Alivia, are you out of your mind?" That was literally the first thing she said.

I held the phone away from my ear and switched it to speaker. "Rosalie, what's up?"

"Fern told me you two split up. Are you out of your mind? Why would you throw away a good life like that? What nonsense are you pulling now?"

"Rosalie, this was something Fernando and I both decided."

"You are lying. Fern said you were the one who insisted on divorcing. Do you have someone else out there?"

I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair. "No, there's no one else. We just couldn't keep going."

"What did Fern ever do to you? The house and the car are all his, and he never asked you to pay a dime for the mortgage.

"You barely make a few grand a month, and you still got to marry Fern. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

A few grand, huh?

She didn't bother to remember my real salary, just threw out a random number.

"Rosalie, I actually make three grand a month," I said.

"Three grand isn't much, Alivia. Do you know what it's like out there right now? Fern pulls in 100 grand a year, owns a house and a car, and he's easy on the eyes.

"Girls are lining up for him. You'd better go back and make things right with him—"

"Rosalie," I interrupted. "I'm not going back. It's over. Please don't call me again."

Then I hung up and deleted Rosalie's contact and blocked her.

As I set my phone down, a message popped up on WhatsApp. It was from Fernando. [Did my mom call you? Sorry for whatever she said.]

I replied: [Yeah.]

He messaged again: [How have you been lately?]

I didn't reply.

Five minutes later, another message popped up. [Are you free this weekend? Let's grab a meal and talk.]

I closed the chat.

There was nothing left to say. Everything that needed to be said was already said when we signed the papers. I wasn't about to waste another word.

*****

On Monday, David Merritt, the chief editor, called me into his office. "Alivia, I need to talk to you about something."

I stood in front of his desk, thinking it was probably about a novel.

"The company's not doing so hot lately, and the bosses are talking about cutting staff. The books you're handling might get shuffled around," he said.

I knew he meant layoffs.

"Mr. Merritt, am I on the chopping block?" I asked.

David waved his hand. "No, no, don't worry. You're not on the list for now, but your bonus might get cut this quarter."

I nodded. "Got it."

After leaving his office, I sat back at my desk and started going through my emails, working on some novels. Julia, the colleague next to me, leaned over and whispered, "What did Mr. Merritt say?"

"He said they're cutting bonuses," I replied.

Julia sighed. "Yeah, not surprised. That book last year tanked, and we lost a lot."

I nodded, not saying anything more.

Whether I got laid off or not didn't really matter to me. This job was a way to have a place in society, a company, a badge, and all the usual benefits. My real income never came from here.

But nobody else had a clue that during lunch, Kenna messaged me, saying Andrew was pushing again and wanted to know if I'd made up my mind.

I typed back: [Let's hold off on meeting for now. Let's hammer out the contract terms first.]

She replied: [The terms are pretty much settled, but he insists on meeting you in person. His exact words were, "I need to make sure the author's taste can be trusted."]

I thought for a moment and replied: [Fine, let's meet. But I have conditions.]

Kenna: [Go ahead.]

Alivia: [Keep my identity under wraps. I want a confidentiality agreement.]

Kenna: [Got it, I'll bring it up with him.]

Once that was settled, I felt like I could finally breathe. I'd been keeping my identity under wraps for three years. Sooner or later, I'd have to meet the director and producer. As long as my identity didn't go public, I was good.

Gael was my ace in the hole, the secret I kept for myself.

Unless things got really bad, I'd never reveal it.