Chapter 3 — You Don’t Own My Name

Nate read the sentence twice.

“Is it true?”

“That’s not the question.”

His eyes lifted.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

He stepped out of his room and pulled the door closed behind him.

Without his suit, he looked less distant. The change was distracting enough that I focused on the wall beside his shoulder.

“Send me the link,” he said. “I’ll have someone contact the publisher.”

“Ask them to preserve whatever they received.”

“You think someone supplied it.”

“Someone did.”

“Who?”

I couldn’t say Sophie’s name.

Not until she answered me.

“Someone I trusted.”

He studied me.

Then he nodded.

“I’ll ask.”

I went back to my room before gratitude could become anything more dangerous.

The next morning, Victor looked at my handbag over breakfast.

“Surely you’re not going to work.”

“Surely I am.”

Evelyn lowered her coffee cup.

“There are photographers outside.”

“I’ll use the side gate.”

“Audrey,” Victor said, “your circumstances have changed.”

“My bills haven’t.”

Nate sat at the far end of the table, reading a message on his phone.

I waited.

He looked up.

“Security can take you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then let them walk you to the gate.”

Victor’s smile thinned.

It wasn’t a defense of me. Not quite.

But it wasn’t permission for Victor to continue, either.

I accepted the walk and took the bus.

At Harbor Medical Supply, three people stopped talking when I entered.

My manager appeared before I reached my desk.

“Audrey. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ve moved you into the front office.”

“Why?”

He gave a nervous laugh.

“We thought it would be appropriate.”

“My files are at my desk.”

“You won’t need those anymore.”

I stared at him.

“What will I need?”

“We can discuss your responsibilities.”

“So there aren’t any.”

His smile disappeared.

I lowered my voice.

“Put my things back, please.”

He glanced toward the glass-walled conference room.

“You understand Mr. Blackwell is effectively our owner now.”

“The acquisition closed?”

“Friday.”

I had known we were being bought. I hadn’t known by whom.

The announcement had referred to a holding company whose name meant nothing to me.

My husband had owned my workplace before I stood beside him at the ceremony.

For a moment, the building felt smaller.

Then I put my handbag beneath my ordinary desk.

“I process invoices,” I said. “Unless you’re firing me, I’d like to start.”

By ten, everyone had resumed pretending not to watch me.

By eleven, I found the same payment twice.

North Quay Logistics.

Two invoices. Different numbers. Identical freight references.

I checked the delivery record. One shipment.

I checked the amount.

Forty-eight thousand six hundred dollars.

Paid twice.

It wasn’t enough to prove anything beyond an error. Errors happened. That was why people like me had jobs.

I opened the previous month.

Three more payments carried the same pattern.

Each had an override approval from the acquisition integration team.

I documented the references and submitted a review request through our normal system.

My manager appeared six minutes later.

“Did you flag North Quay?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been told to prioritize integration.”

“That’s why I flagged it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Just leave that one with senior finance.”

“It is with senior finance. I submitted it.”

His eyes went to my ring.

I covered my hand with a folder.

“Please don’t make this about my husband.”

He left without answering.

Nate’s message arrived at three.

The foundation gala is tonight. Seven. You can decline.

I read the last three words twice.

Then I answered: Does this count as one of the two appearances?

Yes.

Then I’ll attend.

When I reached the house, a stylist waited in my room.

So did a champagne-colored dress.

I touched the fabric.

There was a note beside it.

Choose something else if you prefer.

No signature.

I wore the dress.

I told myself it was because it fit.

When I stepped downstairs, Nate stood by the front door.

His gaze moved over me and stopped.

The pause was brief.

It still made the stair beneath my heel feel unsteady.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No.”

He offered his arm.

I took it.

His sleeve was smooth beneath my fingers. His forearm was not.

Outside the hotel, cameras flashed.

Nate leaned toward me.

“Do you want me to answer the questions?”

“For tonight.”

“Stay close, then.”

It sounded different from an order.

I chose to.

Inside, the ballroom was crowded with people who recognized one another’s watches.

A woman in red approached Nate and kissed his cheek.

“Your wedding was a surprise.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Her gaze passed over me.

“You must be finding all this rather overwhelming.”

“A little,” I said.

“How honest.”

Before I could decide whether she meant that kindly, she smiled toward a display showing photographs of community clinics.

“I never understand why the foundation insists on those smaller facilities. Surely consolidation would be more efficient.”

“Not for patients without transport,” I said.

She blinked.

I pointed to one photograph.

“That clinic receives deliveries twice a week because they don’t have room for bulk storage. Close it, and the nearest alternative is forty minutes away.”

“You know the place?”

“We supply them.”

Nate turned slightly toward me.

“We?”

“Harbor Medical.”

The woman glanced between us.

“How useful.”

I smiled.

“Yes. It is.”

She moved on.

Nate’s attention remained on my face.

“You could have told me.”

“That I have a job?”

“That you knew the foundation’s clinics.”

“You could have asked.”

His mouth moved at one corner.

Before I could decide whether it was a smile, someone called his name.

He hesitated.

“Will you be all right?”

“I’ve survived worse than champagne.”

“I’m beginning to believe that.”

He left me beside the display.

A few minutes later, a man approached carrying two glasses of sparkling water.

“You looked like you were searching for an escape route.”

“Does this count as one?”

He offered a glass.

“Julian Cross.”

“Audrey Bennett.”

“I know. I also heard you explain the problem with closing that clinic.”

I accepted the water.

“Was I too blunt?”

“You were accurate. That’s rarer here.”

Julian ran a nonprofit coordinating transport and follow-up care for patients leaving hospital. We talked about late deliveries and the small failures that became large problems for people with nowhere else to go.

He asked what I did.

He listened to the answer.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed that.

Then Nate appeared beside us.

“Cross.”

“Blackwell.”

Julian’s smile remained easy.

“Your wife knows your distribution network better than most of your directors.”

“So I’m discovering.”

Nate looked at me.

“We should go.”

I checked the time.

“We’ve been here forty minutes.”

“I’ve finished.”

“I haven’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Julian excused himself with the tact of a man who understood exactly what he had interrupted.

I watched him leave.

Nate’s voice lowered.

“Was that necessary?”

“What?”

“Making a point in front of him.”

“You made it in front of him.”

We stood without speaking until a photographer turned our way.

Nate offered his arm again.

This time, I didn’t take it.

In the car, he loosened his tie.

“Julian can be charming.”

“He was talking about work.”

“He was interested in more than work.”

“Then I can handle that.”

“You’re my wife.”

“I’m also a person who can finish a conversation.”

His gaze sharpened.

“You don’t know everyone’s motives.”

“Neither do you. You just assume the worst and call it knowledge.”

The car slowed at a light.

He looked out the window.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

My pulse changed.

The admission hung between us, inconvenient and warm.

I kept my voice steady.

“That doesn’t give you the right to decide when I leave.”

He turned back.

“What would?”

“Asking.”

His eyes stayed on mine.

Then he looked down at his hands.

“All right.”

I didn’t know what to do with that answer.

My phone buzzed before I had to decide.

An automated notification from work.

Review request withdrawn.

I opened the audit history.

My manager had closed it under an instruction from the integration office.

The attached approval list loaded slowly.

At the bottom was the name responsible for the payment overrides.

Victor Blackwell.

Beside me, Nate said, “Audrey?”

I locked the screen.

The car carried us toward the house where his uncle was waiting.

“Nothing,” I said.

For the first time since the wedding, it was a lie I told for myself.