Chapter 3
The answer was so unexpectedly honest that my anger faltered.
Only for a moment.
“You still should have asked.”
“Yes.”
“You should not have touched me without warning.”
“Yes.”
“And you should never kiss someone’s hand unless they know why.”
He looked at my fingers.
“That part was especially reckless.”
“Good. We agree.”
“I’m sorry, Ellie.”
He said my name carefully.
No charm.
No billionaire confidence.
Just apology.
I believed him.
That annoyed me too.
I placed his jacket over the railing between us.
“What happens to my novel now?”
“That depends on what you want.”
“I want my name back.”
“Then we start there.”
“We?”
“You’ll need proof.”
“I have notebooks.”
“Good.”
“Old emails. Drafts. Messages I sent Daniel.”
“Better.”
“I don’t have money for lawyers.”
“You won’t need money.”
I stiffened.
“I’m not accepting charity.”
“This wouldn’t be charity. My company’s audit uncovered the issue. We have an obligation to correct it.”
“And if I say no?”
“I give you copies of what we found, recommend independent counsel, and step away.”
He said it without hesitation.
For the first time that night, I understood the difference between power and control.
Ryan had power.
But he was offering me a choice.
“What does Charles Prescott know?” I asked.
“Not enough.”
“Does Daniel know you found out?”
“No.”
“Does Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Then why did she look so nervous when you introduced yourself?”
“People often look nervous when they recognize me.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“It is mostly inconvenient.”
I almost smiled.
Then music swelled inside.
Sophia appeared at the terrace doors and pointed toward the dance floor.
I shook my head.
She pointed more forcefully.
Ryan looked at me.
“You promised.”
“I did not.”
“Your silence was interpreted as consent.”
“That seems to happen around powerful people.”
He accepted the criticism.
“Would you like to dance?”
I stared at him.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am trying to repair the first lie with a smaller public truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I came with you because I wanted to.”
The words landed more softly than I expected.
I looked at the dance floor.
Couples swayed beneath the chandeliers. Sophia stood beside Lucas, pretending not to watch us.
Vanessa had returned to her table. Her expression was no longer triumphant, but neither was it crushed. She simply looked curious.
I did not want to defeat her.
I wanted to stop living as though everyone else’s opinion was a verdict.
I placed Ryan’s jacket back around my shoulders.
“One dance.”
“One.”
“And no more imaginary marriages.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That does not sound reassuring.”
“It was intended to be honest.”
He offered his hand.
This time, I took it by choice.
When we entered the ballroom, conversations shifted around us, but Ryan did not seem to notice. He led me onto the edge of the dance floor rather than the center, where fewer people would watch.
One hand rested lightly at my waist.
The other held mine.
“Do you know how to dance?” I asked.
“My grandmother considered it essential.”
“My grandmother considered couponing essential.”
“Both valuable skills.”
The band played a slow arrangement of an old love song.
I moved carefully.
Ryan matched my pace.
“You’re looking at the floor,” he said.
“I’m making sure I don’t step on you.”
“My shoes will survive.”
“They probably cost more than my car.”
“They did.”
I looked up.
His mouth curved.
“You could have lied.”
“You’ve reached your limit for those tonight.”
I laughed despite myself.
The tension in my shoulders eased.
Around us, the ballroom blurred into gold light and music.
For a few minutes, I forgot about Daniel.
I forgot the manuscript.
I forgot table nineteen.
Ryan did not pull me closer than necessary. He did not perform for the room. He simply danced with me as though the moment did not need to prove anything.
“You really liked the story?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What part?”
“The scene where June finds the old guest ledger.”
I missed a step.
He steadied me.
“That chapter was never in the digital file.”
Ryan’s expression changed.
“What?”
“I wrote it by hand.”
“I read it.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“It was page one hundred and twelve. June discovers that her mother had been paying for room seven every summer even though no guest ever stayed there.”
Cold moved through me.
That was exactly right.
I had written the scene in a blue notebook during a stormy weekend at my mother’s house. I never typed it. Daniel had been there, but I did not remember showing it to him.
“Maybe I scanned it,” I said.
“You said you didn’t.”
“I don’t remember.”
Ryan’s gaze sharpened.
“Where is the notebook now?”
“In a storage box at my apartment.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The song ended.
Applause rose around us.
Ryan did not release my hand immediately.
“Ellie, the manuscript submitted to Northstar included photographs of handwritten pages.”
My heart began to beat faster.
“Daniel took pictures?”
“That would be my assumption.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Sophia approached before I could respond.
“There,” she said. “You survived.”
“Barely,” I replied.
She looked between us.
“Should I ask?”
“Not yet.”
Her smile faded.
“Is something wrong?”
I glanced toward the head table.
Charles Prescott was speaking with a group of guests. He was a broad-shouldered man in his sixties, silver-haired and polished, with the warm expression of someone accustomed to charming rooms.
He caught Ryan’s eye.
Then he looked at me.
Something in his face changed.
Recognition.
It vanished almost immediately, replaced by a pleasant smile.
But I had seen it.
Ryan had too.
“Do you know him?” he asked.
“No.”
Charles excused himself from the group and walked toward us.
Sophia looked nervous.
“My father-in-law can be intense, but he means well.”
Charles stopped in front of Ryan.
“Blackwood. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.”
“I was delayed.”
Charles’s gaze moved to me.
“And this must be Elena.”
No one spoke.
My full name was Elena Hart.
Most people called me Ellie.
Very few strangers knew the difference.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
Charles smiled, but the expression had become careful.
“Sophia mentioned her cousin.”
Sophia frowned.
“I call her Ellie.”
Charles looked at her.
“Perhaps Lucas mentioned it.”
“My husband has called her Ellie since the day they met.”
The air changed.
Ryan stepped slightly closer to me.
“Charles,” he said, “have you met Ms. Hart before?”
“No.”
The answer came too smoothly.
I looked at him.
“Then why did you recognize me?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
A passing waiter slowed, sensing tension. Charles noticed and immediately softened his tone.
“This is a wedding. Perhaps we should not turn a simple mistake into something uncomfortable.”
“I agree,” Ryan said. “So answer her.”
Charles’s eyes hardened for half a second.
Then he smiled again.
“I saw her photograph in a company file.”
My stomach dropped.
“Which file?”
“A Northstar project.”
Ryan’s voice became quiet.
“You told me the intellectual property package had not been reviewed at the executive level.”
Charles looked at him.
“I may have spoken too generally.”
“Did you know the manuscript was disputed?”
“There was no formal dispute.”
“There is now,” I said.
Charles looked at me more carefully.
Not dismissively.
Almost sympathetically.
“I suspected Daniel was not the sole author.”
“Sole author?” I repeated.
“He claimed the project was developed collaboratively.”
“With whom?”
Charles hesitated.
“An unnamed partner.”
“My name was removed.”
“I did not oversee the submission.”
“But you saw my photograph.”
“Yes.”
“Why was my photograph in the file?”
He glanced at Ryan.
“That is a conversation for another time.”
“No,” I said. “It is a conversation for now.”
Sophia touched my arm.
“Ellie, maybe we can go somewhere private.”
Charles looked around the ballroom.
“That would be wise.”
We moved into a small library off the main corridor. The walls were lined with dark shelves and framed photographs of the hotel when it first opened.
Sophia closed the door.
Lucas joined us a moment later, confused but concerned.
“What happened?”
“Your father knew Ellie’s name,” Sophia said.
Lucas looked at Charles.
“Why?”
Charles exhaled.
“Because I was aware of her connection to the Northstar project.”
Ryan folded his arms.
“How aware?”
Charles walked toward the fireplace, though no fire burned.
May you like
“Northstar’s creative division received the manuscript eleven months ago. It was strong. Very strong. But there were irregularities in the submission history.”
“What irregularities?” I asked.
