Chapter 4
“Different writing styles. Conflicting file dates. Missing releases.”
“And you still bought the company.”
“We bought Northstar for its distribution contracts, not one manuscript.”
“That manuscript is my life.”
Charles turned.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
His expression softened.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
For a moment, he seemed less like an executive and more like Sophia’s father-in-law—a man who had entered a room of people he loved and realized business had followed him there.
“I asked Daniel for clarification,” he said.
“What did he tell you?” Ryan asked.
“That the original concept came from a former partner who had abandoned the work.”
My chest tightened.
“He told you I abandoned it?”
“He said you no longer intended to write.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
Charles’s gaze moved to my purse.
“Because you recently submitted a story to the Bellweather Literary Fellowship.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m one of the anonymous sponsors.”
The room went silent.
The Bellweather Fellowship was small but respected. I had submitted three chapters from a different novel two months earlier, expecting nothing.
No response had come.
Charles continued.
“Your application included a writing sample. The voice was unmistakable.”
“You read it?”
“Yes.”
“Did I win?”
Sophia made a small sound beside me, half laugh, half breath.
Charles’s smile was faint.
“The selection process is not complete.”
“But you recognized my writing.”
“I did.”
“Then why didn’t you contact me?”
“Because I needed confirmation before accusing an employee of theft.”
“Daniel isn’t just an employee,” Ryan said. “He’s being considered for creative director.”
I turned toward Ryan.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I learned it this afternoon.”
Charles looked irritated.
“That information was confidential.”
“So was Ellie’s work,” Ryan replied.
Lucas stepped forward.
“Dad, what exactly are you saying?”
Charles rubbed one hand across his jaw.
“I’m saying Daniel may have used work that did not belong to him. I’m also saying someone inside Northstar knew.”
“Who?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Because the original submission records were altered.”
Ryan’s expression sharpened.
“After the acquisition?”
“Yes.”
“By someone with executive access?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to contract around us.
This was no longer only about Daniel taking my manuscript.
Someone else had protected him.
Or protected the project.
“Was Daniel in Chicago tonight?” Ryan asked.
Charles looked surprised.
“As far as I know, he’s in Los Angeles.”
“Can you verify that?”
“Why?”
Before Ryan answered, the library door opened.
Vanessa stood there.
Her face was pale.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t listening. I was looking for Ethan.”
No one believed her.
Her eyes found mine.
“What did Daniel do?”
I studied her.
For all her earlier cruelty, she looked genuinely frightened.
“Did you know about my novel?” I asked.
She blinked.
“What novel?”
“The one Daniel submitted to Northstar.”
Vanessa looked at her father, then at me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did he ever mention The Last Honest Summer?”
The color drained from her face.
Sophia noticed.
“So you have heard of it.”
Vanessa’s hand tightened around the doorframe.
“Only once.”
“When?”
“Last Christmas.”
Daniel had left me three months ago.
Last Christmas, we had still been engaged.
“What did he say?” I asked.
Vanessa looked down.
“He said it was going to change everything.”
My chest hurt.
“Did he say he wrote it?”
“No.”
Hope rose, sudden and painful.
“What did he say?”
Vanessa lifted her eyes.
“He said you did.”
The room went silent.
“Then he admitted it was mine?”
“To me.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked why he was carrying your blue notebook.”
I could barely hear my own voice.
“When did you see it?”
“At our parents’ house. He had it in his bag.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
The shame in her face was unmistakable.
“I thought you had given it to him.”
“You knew how much that story meant to me.”
“I didn’t know he was claiming it.”
“But you knew he had it.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
Her eyes filled.
“I should have.”
The easy version of the evening would have been to enjoy her discomfort.
I could not.
Vanessa had hurt me, but standing before me now was not the cruel, victorious woman from table nineteen. She was someone realizing that her loyalty had helped hide something wrong.
“I need to call him,” she said.
Ryan stepped forward.
“Not yet.”
She looked at him.
“He’s my brother.”
“And he may be involved in falsified corporate records.”
“You think he’s a criminal?”
“I think we need facts before he knows what we’ve found.”
Vanessa’s eyes flashed.
“You don’t get to control this.”
Ryan’s expression remained even.
“You’re right.”
The agreement startled her.
He looked at me.
“Ellie decides.”
Everyone turned toward me.
The weight of it settled on my shoulders.
An hour earlier, I had been sitting alone at table nineteen, trying to become small enough that no one would notice how much I hurt.
Now powerful men were waiting for my decision.
Not because I had money.
Not because I had status.
Because the work was mine.
The truth was mine.
I looked at Vanessa.
“Don’t call him yet.”
She nodded slowly.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find my notebook.”
Ryan checked his watch.
“I’ll take you home.”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I can get a taxi.”
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“I have survived public transportation before.”
“I’m sure you have.”
“Then we agree.”
“We do not.”
Sophia stepped between us.
“She’s not leaving alone.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that too often,” Sophia replied.
Lucas touched her shoulder.
“I’ll arrange a car.”
Ryan looked at me.
“No security. No press. No drama.”
“I don’t need you to come.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because if the notebook is missing, I want someone there who understands what that means.”
I stared at him.
He was not trying to rescue me now.
He was offering to witness the truth.
“All right,” I said. “But Sophia stays at her wedding.”
Sophia opened her mouth.
“No,” I said. “You get one wedding night. I am not taking it from you.”
She hugged me before I could protest.
Her dress surrounded us in layers of silk.
“You could never take anything from me,” she whispered. “You’re part of it.”
My eyes burned.
I held her tightly.
When she released me, she turned to Ryan.
“Bring her back safely.”
“I will.”
“And stop pretending to be her husband.”
Ryan looked at me.
“That depends on her.”
“It absolutely does not,” I said.
Sophia laughed.
The sound followed us into the corridor.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in the back of Ryan’s car with the city sliding past the windows.
His security driver sat in front, separated by a glass partition. Ryan had offered me the passenger-side rear seat, leaving a respectful space between us.
My feet hurt.
My head hurt.
My entire understanding of the last year hurt.
I stared at my reflection in the dark glass.
“Why did you choose me?” I asked.
Ryan turned.
“At the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“You were the person being treated unfairly.”
“That happens in ballrooms every day.”
“I noticed you before Vanessa approached.”
My pulse shifted.
“Why?”
He looked out the window for a moment.
“Because I had seen your photograph.”
“In the Northstar file.”
“Yes.”
“So when you walked in, you already knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
The answer unsettled me.
“You should have said that immediately.”
May you like
“I know.”
“Were you watching me?”
