Chapter 3The Ghostwriter Is Your New Rival

"Valerie, sweetheart."

Victoria's voice was a purr of manufactured warmth. It was the tone of a woman used to treating the world like her personal staff.

"Where are you off to with all that?"

I stood my ground, the box pressed against my chest.

"Victoria." I offered the bare minimum of a greeting.

Beside her, Paige looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. She looked at me the way one might look at an eviction.

Victoria’s gaze drifted down to the cardboard box, lingering for two deliberate seconds. Then, she reached out and lightly patted my arm. The gesture was as gentle as it was degrading—a mother soothing a toddler throwing a tantrum in a grocery store.

"I know your feelings are hurt," she cooed. "You're young. It’s normal to have these emotional reactions. But you can't just throw a tantrum and act on impulse."

She glanced sideways at Paige before turning her focus back to me, adopting an insufferably guiding tone.

"This new structure was my idea. Don't be upset with Paige."

Paige instantly transformed her face into a mask of wounded innocence. "Vicky, it's my fault. If I hadn't—"

"Stop it, it's not your fault," Victoria interrupted smoothly.

She turned back to me, clearly ready to bestow her wisdom. "Valerie, you need to be a team player. We kept you on as the assistant lead so you could help Paige transition. She's stepping into a big role, and she needs someone with your... tactical experience to hold her hand for a bit."

"On paper, she's the executive lead. But the day-to-day work? That’s still your domain. Do you understand what I'm offering you?"

She smiled at me, her eyes brimming with the absolute certainty that she was granting me an incredible favor.

She wanted me to remain a glorified assistant. To do all the heavy lifting, write all the code, put out all the fires. Paige would take the glory, the bonuses, and the title. And I was supposed to be grateful for the privilege.

I looked at her perfectly preserved, Botox-smooth face, and a sudden, quiet realization washed over me.

To people like her, the dignity and sweat of ordinary people were just collateral. They didn't even view this as malicious. To them, exploiting me was simply the natural order of the universe.

My grip on the cardboard box tightened.

Then, I spoke. My voice was startlingly clear in the cold air.

"I'm sorry, Victoria."

"But I'm afraid I'm no longer eligible for this 'opportunity' you're offering."

The smile on Victoria's face glitched. Her perfectly arched brows drew together in genuine confusion.

"What do you mean, no longer eligible?"

I looked her dead in the eye, enunciating every syllable.

"Twenty minutes ago, I finalized my exit paperwork."

"As of right now, I am no longer an employee of your husband's company. So, that assistant position you're so generously offering? You're going to have to find someone else to fill it."

The air between us froze solid.

The smug satisfaction drained out of Victoria's face inch by inch. Her elegant features twisted into something sharp and uncomprehending. She had likely plotted a dozen ways this conversation would go—I would cry, I would demand an apology, I would swallow my pride and submit.

She had never, in a million years, calculated that I would simply walk away from the table.

Her carefully written script had just been incinerated in front of her. The carrot she was trying to dangle over my head hadn't just been rejected; I had flipped the entire cart over.

Beside her, Paige's triumphant smirk morphed into raw panic. Her hand shot out, grabbing Victoria's cashmere sleeve.

"Vicky, she can't—"

I didn't stick around to watch the fallout.

Clutching my box, I stepped around them and kept walking.

No one called out after me. I didn't look back. I stepped into the biting chill of the winter afternoon, and for the first time in three years, I could finally breathe.