The audit report arrived at 11:43 that night.
I was still at the studio.
Outside, rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the city lights into blurred ribbons of gold.
Marcus placed a tablet in front of me.
“You’re not going to like this.”
I opened the first page.
For two years, someone had been quietly transferring our most profitable clients to another design company.
Small accounts at first.
Then suppliers.
Then manufacturers.
Nothing dramatic enough to attract attention.
But together, the losses were enormous.
“Who approved these transfers?”
Marcus hesitated.
“That’s the strange part.”
He enlarged several signatures.
Mine.
Perfect reproductions.
Except I had never signed them.
My pulse slowed rather than accelerated.
“Someone forged my authorization.”
“Yes.”
“Who benefited?”
Marcus opened another file.
A company appeared.
EB Atelier.
I stared at the initials.
E.B.
The floating comments immediately appeared.
“She found it too early.”
“This isn’t supposed to happen until after the divorce.”
“Why is the antagonist investigating her own company?”
I almost laughed.
The comments were frightened.
Good.
I looked at Marcus.
“Who owns EB Atelier?”
“We’re tracing the shareholders.”
“Do it tonight.”
He frowned.
“You’re not going home?”
“No.”
My phone rang.
Alexander.
I let it ring.
Then again.
Then a message arrived.
Where are you?
Another.
Dinner ended.
I read the words twice.
In three years, Alexander had never explained when his dinners ended unless I asked.
Now I hadn’t asked.
And he was reporting to me anyway.
I put the phone facedown.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“Your husband?”
“For now.”
Before he could ask what that meant, the office door opened.
Alexander stood there.
Still wearing his evening suit.
No coat.
Rain darkened his shoulders.
I stared at him.
“How did you know I was here?”
“You didn’t answer.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
His gaze moved around the studio.
Then stopped on the sketches covering my desk.
“You’re working?”
“Yes.”
“At midnight?”
I almost smiled.
“You work late all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
He had no answer.
Marcus stood.
“I’ll check the shareholder records.”
Alexander’s eyes followed him until the door closed.
Then he looked back at me.
“Elena came home tonight.”
“I know.”
“She asked about you.”
“Why?”
His brow furrowed.
“You really don’t care?”
The comments flashed rapidly.
“Ask whether he still loves Elena!”
“Cry!”
“This is where she demands that he choose!”
I ignored them.
Instead, I asked:
“How was dinner?”
Alexander stared.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
Something in his expression tightened.
He walked around the desk.
“You stopped calling me.”
“I noticed.”
“You stopped waiting up.”
“Yes.”
“You came back to work without discussing it with me.”
That one almost amused me.
“I founded this company before I married you.”
“You said you wanted to focus on our family.”
“No.”
I closed the audit report.
“Your mother said that.”
Alexander went silent.
I continued.
“And you didn’t disagree.”
For the first time, I saw discomfort in his face.
Not anger.
Discomfort.
“I thought you were happy.”
“I thought so too.”
He looked at the desk.
“What are you investigating?”
“Company business.”
His eyes dropped to the EB Atelier file.
Then his expression changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
“You know that name.”
“No.”
Too fast.
I stood.
“Alexander.”
“I said no.”
The comments suddenly exploded.
“He must not tell her!”
“If she learns who owns EB Atelier, the original plot collapses!”
My fingers tightened around the folder.
Interesting.
I stepped closer.
“Who owns it?”
Alexander’s voice cooled.
“Stop digging into things you don’t understand.”
There it was.
The sentence men used when they were afraid a woman understood too much.
“This is my company.”
“And I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed.
Marcus.
One message.
We found the beneficial owner. Come alone.
Alexander saw the notification.
“Marcus texts you this late?”
I looked at him.
For three years, I had asked exactly the same question about Elena.
Now suddenly midnight messages were inappropriate.
“Work matters.”
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t like him.”
I picked up my coat.
“That sounds personal.”
He caught my wrist.
Not hard.
But firmly.
“Where are you going?”
I looked down at his hand.
Alexander released me slowly.
“You used to tell me everything.”
“And you used to prefer that I didn’t ask you anything.”
His face became unreadable.
I walked past him.
Then he said:
“Don’t meet Marcus alone.”
I turned.
“Why?”
Silence.
“You think he likes me?”
Alexander’s expression darkened immediately.
The answer was obvious.
I smiled.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You’ve never cared whether I felt threatened by Elena.”
I opened the door.
“But one evening of not chasing you, and suddenly you’re worried another man might want me.”
I left him standing there.
Marcus was waiting in the records room downstairs.
He locked the door.
Then handed me a corporate filing.
“EB Atelier is controlled through three shell companies.”
“And?”
“The final beneficiary was hidden.”
He pointed to the last page.
“But the bank guarantee exposed her.”
Her.
My stomach tightened.
I read the name.
Elena Brooks.
For several seconds, the room became silent.
The comments appeared again.
This time they seemed almost panicked.
“Wrong timing.”
“She wasn’t supposed to discover this until she had already lost everything.”
“The protagonist was meant to transfer the studio to Elena after the divorce.”
My breath stopped.
So that was the original story.
I would chase Alexander.
Humiliate myself.
Lose him.
Then lose my company.
And eventually disappear quietly enough for everyone else to continue their happy ending.
I looked at Marcus.
“How much has Elena taken?”
“Directly? Almost six million.”
I felt nothing.
“And indirectly?”
“Possibly triple that.”
“Who authorized her access?”
Marcus hesitated.
Then placed another document in front of me.
My husband’s name was at the bottom.
ALEXANDER REED.
I stared at the signature.
The office door suddenly opened.
Alexander stood outside.
He had followed me.
His gaze landed on the document.
Then on my face.
“Give me that.”
I laughed softly.
“No.”
His expression became frighteningly serious.
“You don’t understand what that authorization is.”
“Then explain.”
“It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
“Six million dollars disappeared from my company.”
“I know.”
That answer changed everything.
“You knew?”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
For the first time that night, something actually hurt.
Not because Elena was his supposed true love.
Not because he rarely reached for me in bed.
Because while I had been shrinking myself to fit inside his life, he had watched someone dismantle mine.
“Why?”
Alexander’s voice dropped.
“Because EB Atelier was supposed to remain dormant.”
“Supposed to?”
He looked toward the door, then back at me.
“Elena wasn’t meant to use the money.”
My blood ran cold.
“What was it for?”
Before he could answer, another line appeared in front of my eyes.
Different from the comments.
Red.
Sharp.
Almost like a system warning.
“MAJOR PLOT DEVIATION DETECTED.”
Then another.
“THE MALE LEAD HAS BECOME AWARE OF THE SCRIPT.”
I froze.
Slowly, I looked at Alexander.
He wasn’t looking at me.
He was staring at the exact same empty space in front of my face.
His expression had gone completely white.
And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, my husband said:
“You can see them too?”
