Chapter 4

The next morning, I didn't go to the studio. Instead, I headed to a law firm right next to the courthouse.

Sophie had set me up with Mark Monroe, a lawyer specializing in entertainment contracts.

He flipped through my documents and adjusted his glasses. "The divorce settlement is straightforward, but if Mr. Blake fights it, the process will drag on. Regarding the asset division, are you sure you only want your creative royalties and personal property?"

"I'm sure," I replied.

"You don't want a share of the real estate, the stocks, or the investment dividends?" Mark asked.

I shook my head. "The math is too messy, and I don't want to use them as an excuse to stay tied to him."

Mark looked at me. "Ms. Reed, what you're really after is your rightful credit and your reputation, isn't it?"

I gripped my pen, my fingertips cold. "And my freedom."

He nodded, sliding another file across the desk. "Then let's start with intellectual property. For all the scripts, storyboards, and editing notes you contributed over the years, as long as we have emails, chat logs, and timestamps, we can build an airtight case."

Sophie opened her laptop. "We have everything. She's too nice, always taking it all lying down. But every single file was backed up."

I glanced at her, and Sophie let out a sharp huff. "What? Back then, every time you'd finish crying and send me those files, I saved them all. You didn't have the heart to use them against him, but I sure do."

I lowered my head, my eyes suddenly stinging. Over the last five years, it wasn't that no one had offered me a job. But I always thought, if I just waited a little longer, Edward would come to his senses.

On the day Vivian staged her comeback, Edward went to the airport to pick her up himself. He told me they were just old friends. I believed him.

The first time Vivian showed up at our house, it was eleven at night. She said her stomach issues were acting up and she was terrified of staying in a hotel alone. Edward told me to get the master bedroom ready for her.

"That's our room," I said.

He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. "Charlotte, she's sick. Give her a break."

So, I spent that night in the guest room.

The next morning, Vivian strolled out wearing my robe. She stood in the kitchen doorway with a coy smile. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Reed. I didn't realize this was yours. Edward mentioned you do not really care about this kind of thing."

I was holding a bowl of mushroom soup, the steam scalding the back of my hand until it turned red.

Edward saw it, but all he said was, "Don't take it out on her. She just got back. She's still finding her bearings."

Eventually, there were more and more things she "wasn't familiar" with. She wasn't familiar with my room, my car, the scripts I'd rewritten, or my place by Edward's side.

But she was intimately familiar with the camera, so familiar that she knew exactly when to let a tear fall for maximum effect.

By the time I left the law firm, netizens on Instagram were in a total uproar.

Edward's studio had released an official statement: [Charlotte Reed has ended her professional relationship with the studio due to personal career planning. Rumors regarding a marital relationship are unfounded. Please refrain from spreading misinformation.]

Unfounded. One word, and five years of marriage vanished.

Sophie laughed in disbelief. "Is he out of his mind? He actually has the nerve to deny it now?"

I looked at the statement and felt oddly calm. "He's not out of his mind. He just thinks I don't have the guts."

He thought so because I had signed his non-disclosure agreements. Because I had promised him I'd never mention our marriage in public. Because, once upon a time, I had valued his career more than my dignity.

"Should we drop the marriage license?" Sophie asked.

"No." I tucked my phone away. "Let's start with the anonymous screenwriter timeline."