Chapter 2
I stared at Daniel.
“When did she become Evelyn Hart?”
He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The champagne I had bought to celebrate sat untouched inside.
“Tonight went well,” he said. “Preorders tripled in twenty minutes. The studio wants more publicity.”
“When, Daniel?”
He closed the refrigerator and leaned against the counter, arms folded. It was how he handled difficult conversations—lowering his voice until anyone who challenged him sounded unreasonable.
“We started testing Ivy three months ago.”
“Testing what?”
“Whether audiences believed her.”
Three months earlier, Daniel had asked me to record answers for an audio interview.
He said the distributor wanted comments about my writing process but would disguise my voice.
When the interview aired, my answers played over shots of book covers and an empty desk. I assumed the voice had been digitally altered.
“That interview was Ivy?”
“She rerecorded your answers.”
“How many times has she pretended to be me?”
“One audio interview and a short promotional video. Tonight was her first appearance.”
“So she’s been using my name for three months.”
“No one saw her before tonight. Those were market tests.”
He divided the deception into neat pieces, as though theft only counted once someone saw the thief.
I went into my office and woke my computer. None of the files were missing, but a folder I hadn’t opened recently appeared in the history.
Daniel stopped in the doorway.
“You copied my manuscript.”
“Only the pages we needed for publicity.”
“My computer has a password.”
“You’ve used Sophie’s birthday for years.”
Twenty years of marriage had taught him my passwords, where I kept unfinished work, and which memories I guarded most carefully.
He had treated familiarity as permission.
I closed the laptop.
“Does Ivy know who I am?”
“Of course. She needed background.”
“She knows I wrote the books. She knows you’re my husband.”
Daniel rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make every fact sound like a criminal charge. Ivy was hired to promote the brand. She hasn’t touched your royalties or copyrights.”
Technically, he was right about one thing.
Every publishing agreement contained a confidential schedule identifying Claire Bennett as the sole writer behind Evelyn Hart.
But Evelyn House Media held the exclusive publishing and adaptation licenses to the books I had delivered, along with the trademark attached to the pen name.
Daniel and I owned the company together. As its managing member, he controlled the accounts, publicity approvals, and the contracts shown to outside partners.
He could hire someone to represent the brand.
He could not make her the author.
“She signed my name with my mother’s pen.”
“It was a visual prop.”
“To you.”
I slid the laptop into its case.
“Where are you taking that?” he asked.
“Upstairs.”
“I won’t touch your files again.”
“You already showed me what that promise is worth.”
He placed a hand on the case. “We can discuss boundaries, but you can’t withhold the book. The studio is waiting for the final chapters.”
I looked at his hand until he removed it.
There was one more question. I didn’t want to ask it, but I wasn’t giving him a night to prepare a cleaner answer.
“Have you slept with her?”
His gaze shifted toward the dining table.
“That has nothing to do with the publicity plan.”
“Have you?”
“We kissed.”
I waited.
He lifted the cover from one of the cold plates, then put it back.
“There was one night after an event. We’d both been drinking.”
“One night when what happened?”
“I stayed in her hotel room.”
He didn’t tell me where he slept. He didn’t claim nothing had happened.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
He had been sleeping with Ivy while teaching her how to become me. Then he had come home, asked about my chapter progress, and reminded me to help Sophie with college applications.
“I handled it badly,” he said. “I admit that. Once the film deal is finalized, I’ll end the personal part. Replacing Ivy now would raise questions.”
“Let them ask.”
“You can ignore the consequences. Our employees can’t. Neither can Sophie’s college fund.”
He always found a way to distribute the cost of his choices among people who hadn’t made them.
I picked up the laptop case.
“You stay out of this office. You don’t copy another page, and you never give Ivy another piece of my life.”
“We’ll decide that tomorrow.” Daniel pulled a folded seating plan from his jacket. “The director and our distributor are coming to dinner at seven. Ivy will be here.”
“Cancel it.”
“I can’t.”
He flattened the paper on the table.
My name appeared in the last seat, followed by a description in parentheses.
Claire Bennett—Research Assistant.
“Tomorrow night,” Daniel said, “do not correct anyone. They believe Ivy is Evelyn Hart. We need to stay consistent.”